some of the most incredible things u can do with poetry

Doppelganger written by James A. Lindon

Entering the lonely house with my wife
I saw him for the first time
Peering furtively from behind a bush --
Blackness that moved,
A shape amid the shadows,
A momentary glimpse of gleaming eyes
Revealed in the ragged moon.
A closer look (he seemed to turn) might have
Put him to flight forever --
I dared not
(For reasons that I failed to understand),
Though I knew I should act at once.

I puzzled over it, hiding alone,
Watching the woman as she neared the gate.
He came, and I saw him crouching
Night after night.
Night after night
He came, and I saw him crouching,
Watching the woman as she neared the gate.

I puzzled over it, hiding alone --
Though I knew I should act at once,
For reasons that I failed to understand
I dared not
Put him to flight forever.

A closer look (he seemed to turn) might have
Revealed in the ragged moon.
A momentary glimpse of gleaming eyes
A shape amid the shadows,
Blackness that moved.

Peering furtively from behind a bush,
I saw him for the first time,
Entering the lonely house with my wife.

Problems with the auto focusing grrr.... focused on the heads instead of the band

This is for my dear readers who wants to gain further insight into the poems that I occasionally write. Apparently there were people who feel that these poems are perhaps rather cryptic, but I assure you that it is not so. A simple exposition of what can be construed as the intended meaning is presented below. However it is not exhaustive, the experience and enjoyment of the reader is individual. And of course, criticisms are more than welcome.


"Dancing across the pits of night,
These blue dancers, streaks of light.
Skipping to the drums of war,
Convulsing in rage's roar."

Setting here was a dark night, "the pits", while the blue dancers are...well "streaks of light", lightning. The author feels a certain anger, where the thunders are the drums of war, the dancers "convulsing" to its roar.

"Light my path so damp and straight,
In my heart I'm so afraid,
Singe my soul,
The rest is dead."

As the author was walking, lightning lights the path ahead, a path that was "damp and straight", probably an allegory of something. Indeed it leads on to show us that the author was fearful, that nothing was left to be burnt but the soul, so all-consuming is this fear, fear perhaps of walking a damp, straight path.

"Pitter, patter, falls these feet,
Uncertainty does deeply sit.
Raise the spectres of lonesome ghosts,
They shall join me, I their host."

This becomes further apparent in the author's footsteps. In his foot falls, he notice that perhaps it dragged with an "uncertainty" that "deeply sit". The echoes of loneliness is summoned and the author feels he is "their host"

"Mirrored in this pool of mud,
Predicaments of such a rut
Of terrible aloneness,
A permanent scorched furnace."

In a contrast to the earlier scenes of water, this loneliness burned, like " a permanent scorched furnace". Or perhaps the author was already deeply scarred, like the black insides of a long-used furnace. And all these he ponders, staring at a "pool of mud"

"Raise my chins, an umbrella black,
Lower eyes, a belligerent sack
Housing past scars and future fears,
I carry thee in stubborn tears."

The author sees no hope, where looking around, there was only "an umbrella black" and a "belligerent sack", a sense of despondency. This sack seemed to be filled not with something material, but the "past scars and future fears", but yet the author was resolute.