Thursday, 24 January 2019

The Shadow Play Master

the shadow play master’s
slender but crooked fingers
and neat paper silhouettes
grow and shrink for the last time
on the wall inside the brick building

oak brass tea steam
phlegmatic applause
the master makes his exit
while charming charlatan
with wild duck in basket
makes his appearance

door creaks fox flees into bush
coach passes by copper lamppost
three afghan hounds run after the coach
their paws hardly touch the ground

the frost fog in the grove
icy through respiratory tract
the shadow play master’s green coat
with black pompoms
becomes visible through the fog
but not his flour white complexion

hoarfrost on nostril hair
pine needles become blue
only frost no snow yet.


© Jenny Enochsson 2019


(This is a revised version of a poem I wrote in 2010.)

7 comments:

Ande said...

Oh, what a masterpice! I could feel the strange shadows rise and fall like breath. I really love this one. And the slight update only made it better. One to re-read time and again.

po johnson said...

I can see myself in this one, this is a deeply felt one.

Jenny said...

Ande and PO, thank you very much.

ear said...

so very well done, like watching the opening of a BBC mystery- everything is so visible that you describe.
Hoarfrost on nostril hair Brr. Now I don't want to go outside.

Jenny said...

Thanks Elaine. I am glad you liked it.

Lise Larsen said...

Cool! I like this shadow play master a a lot. Sad, but at the same time strong and mysterious. Like the kind of men I ususally meet.

gerry boyd said...

Hey Jenny! Mucho long time no talk. Hope you're well in these crazee times. Not much new with me. Don't write much anymore. Living in Florida and trying to stay sane. Peace.