Sunday, October 24, 2010

Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green.
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings,
None of them are strange
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.

This poem is crazy. I don't exactly understand much of it at all. The title kinda gives away that the poem is a dream or a confusing form of imagination during the night (Ten O'Clock). I think it just shows imagination at work within a writer's mind. Its a very strange poem though I will give it that...


  1. This is too short, sweet-patootie! :) It doesn't count as analysis. Sorry.

  2. if it is too short do you just want us to add more to it?