Sunday Creep by Baden
The feel of a Sunday creeps
over my limbs, flimflam
man has deep sleeps, while
brooding cameras zoom
and do from corners dusted,
I dream their prying prize, my
pink eyes, lipsticked globes,
red-rushed vessels storm
the verge of two abyssal holes
and within those chasms flow
flags fluttered ragged white
to mock a victim of the night
hugged still for fear of day, I say
Sunday was never meant to
be this way
over my limbs, flimflam
man has deep sleeps, while
brooding cameras zoom
and do from corners dusted,
I dream their prying prize, my
pink eyes, lipsticked globes,
red-rushed vessels storm
the verge of two abyssal holes
and within those chasms flow
flags fluttered ragged white
to mock a victim of the night
hugged still for fear of day, I say
Sunday was never meant to
be this way
Comments (37)
I want to know from the author of this poem if it is actually a song. It is catchy and original. Big kudos to whoever the user.
This is about a romantic encounter? Other parts simply are emptily clinging words. Nicely put together.
"White flag"...surrender? to what? To whom? Why?Quoting Caldwell
Cameras brood? How?
do they do what?
the person dreams (about?) prying (?) a prize out of somewhere? Their prize meaning whose prize? The cameras'?
God I need lots more brains to get the point, to get the situation, to get the event of this song.
I think it is prostitution, but be it as it may, I really enjoyed this poem!
I'm thinking porn shoot though.
Could also be, in any case the poem is rather carnal.
After reading the poem, I enjoyed the ambiguity of the title. Clever.
Quoting Caldwell
So many songs about 'Sunday Mornings', so many lazy, sensual moods. Or you might wanna sing a hymn or two, clearing and cleaning your way to God Above. 'Corners dusted'. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. But whose God?
There's an immediate sense here of something not quite right.
A flimflam man (a sleaze-bag) is being filmed in his bed, the deepest of sleeps just before the dawn. Slowly wakening. Drugs involved?
Coming to...in a half-dream consciousness of self.
But wait, is it that of the man, or the person beside him...half-awake and imagining...
Quoting Caldwell
The intrusive and prying eyes of the cameras meet their 'prize' (valuable prey?)...prized open.
Speculating:
Pink - viral infection, tears and tiredness.
Lipsticked globes - rouged nipples
Red-rushed vessels - blood engorged organ, quickly rushing the edges of two deep holes.
Quoting Caldwell
White liquids flow in the release of and surrender to the enemy attacker.
Flags or flaps ragged from regular and repeated onslaught.
The victim, is an object of ridicule and scorned by those entertained by voyeurism, and more.
A self-protective hug; own arms folded around body. What will the next day bring...more of the same.
Trafficked, powerless and pimped.
Quoting Caldwell
Sunday Creep.
As in 'mission creep' - from a hymning church-goer to a sinning whore.
A day of rest - a fun day. To meet the creep.
Does the creep know he is being filmed? Will blackmail be involved?
So many ways to creep.
***
Quoting god must be atheist
A good thesaurus can help.
'Brood' - dwell upon/ at length over and about.
Quoting Tobias
Yes, thanks for the hint :yikes:
***
This poem made me think, feel and see much more than I wanted to.
Exceptional and awful :monkey:
I 'enjoyed' it.
@Tobias led me astray :naughty:
:wink:
I thought the filming was a reference to the ICTV security cameras which hang in areas where these kinds of actions take place. However it may also be the webcams which now seem to monitor those intimate acts in order to make a bit more money.
Quoting Amity
Me? Would I ever lead someone astray?
:grin:
you did not get my meaning. I am very sorry about that.
Explanation to you: Inanimate objects are believed to be incapable of emoting.
Brood is verb that means the person who broods has a mood of some sort.
A camera can't brood any more, than your shoes can be joyful, or my teacher's chalk can be morose.
I did not sense any money changing hands, which is an essential part of prostitution. Payment of any sort is not even implied, not even in the remotest sense.
If you wanted to say "this is dirty", that applies to any sex act. If it's not dirty, it's not worth doing it. :-)
Flower sex is dirty, too. Ah, those bees and bumblebees!! With their long, lean legs, big bottoms... quick, gimme a block of ice to sit on.
I think you did understand that I got your meaning. I could have explained more but thought that you would follow the anthropomorphism. The camera lens is like a human eye. It is not about emoting but the action of following the object or person, staying on the scene, its operators or programming 'hungry'.
Intrusive yoyeurism to satisfy certain needs.
Anyone that can write this beauty has the intelligence to understand poetry, even if some forms can be challenging:
I really appreciate your questioning of some entries, looking for answers, help in understanding.
That's what it's all about. Engaging with the text by close reading, and wondering...
Unfortunately, the poll option is clicked before a more comprehensive discussion has taken place.
You're not alone in that.
It's a pity, this rush to vote, it's a pity that authors don't seem to able to explain until after the poll.
I do not want to say anything of the sort. I do not think a poem is a documentary. The money changing hands might be irrelevant for the protagonist or taken for granted. I do think there is a sex act involved and I think the protagonist does not feel good about it. It feel loveless. It might be a porn shoot as Benkei proposed, but usually one does not wake up the next morning still there. The cameras do point in that direction though. It can be many things, that is the beauty of a poem. What poetry is good at is conveying the hidden meanings of words and actions. In any case no moral judgment was implied.
You two convinced me. I did give serious thought to this poem. And your analysis with re-reading the poem, have made me come to a conclusion like this:
The guy (or the girl) set up some cameras. Hidden from the other party. This is communicated by the fact that cameras are in the corners, most likely hidden. Then a rape occurred; this is communicated by the word "victim". The (fe/male) perpetrator fell asleep after the act, while the cameras (webcams, etc.) were still rolling. S/He knew he (stick with male) could edit the footage later. No pornography (commercial) but private, for his own viewing. Why I think so? The white miasma stays inside the hole. That means he ejaculated with pleasure. In porn movies they ejaculate outside, and apparently pleasure if the actors is the least amount of worry to any of the parties involved in making and in viewing the film. I know, I starred in literally hundreds of them in my twenties and thirties.
Commercial porn is created (at least now) in the daylight, with improved light conditions using extensive photo and cinematic equipment. It is not filmed at night. The guy in the poem did it at night... the girl, since it was most likely rape, was drunk, or tired, or what ever. There may not have been actual forced rape, but it could have been a date-rape, or else a coitus by common agreement, but out of convenience, not out of love, not out of amorous desire either.
Tobias is right: I was wrong. There may have been a incident of prostitution, even if it wasn't spelled out.
Thanks, Tobias, for the reply to my criticism of your opinion.
Regarding the brooding camera lenses: I was wrong there, too, Amity. Common misconception is that porno watching happens by despicable-looking, fat, ugly, sweaty, short, balding middle-aged males. And that immediately conjures up the mood in the public mind, that the film and the act must be morose, brooding, not happy, a waste of emotion. But I would like to introduce that that is not true. Most people masturbate, even if they are in a happy relationship. Good looking, successful people masturbate. Happy, happy-go-lucky, good humoured and well-intentioned, handsome and cute moral people masturbate. Most married people don't have relations with their spouses through their entire marriage, although there occurs no marital infidelity. Those who have sex relentlessly with their only and long-time partner, may be fantasizing. And most importantly, masturbation is like eating and sleeping: a need gets satisfied, without emotional content. Without ANY emotional content, happy or sad, remorseful or joyful, loving or hating, depressed or elated. It is a physical act to satisfy a physical need, not an emotional act to satisfy an emotional need.
That said, there is the occasional phantasy, which may even last, that fuels masturbation, and that may involve a loved one... and even love. Human expression is manifold, nothing can be caged by definition or description that applies to all the specimens and speciwomens of the entire species equally.
So the poet paid tribute to the common misconception that loveless sex must be brooding, and the cameras supplied the emotional content... many poets use this method to set mood.
No.
It's yours, isn't it?
I don't think I've ever written a poem about sex, but anyhow I can't confirm or deny your charge until author reveal time.
Then if it's not you, then it's @god must be atheist. He doth protest too much, methinks :naughty:
No need to respond gmba, now moving on...guessing games can wait. Later... :sparkle:
"There is nothing trivial about fornication" - Inspector Morse
You wrote it? Nah. Your poetic touch is more delicate and sensual. I would imagine :flower:
Disturbing photo. Don't like.
Liked the poem.
Quoting Caldwell
This mid-line rhyme didn't bother me, and on the contrary I found it to be brilliant. Then again, I'm an idiot.
This is probably the best poem and should win. I don't know why I feel the need to say such things about the poems and the stories. I guess I'm in a tempestuous mood.
On the other hand, my poem should win, obviously.
I didn't find this to be about porn or other sexual activities at all. I'm curious to hear from the author. I'm probably wrong.
Fine with me. I just said I didn't like the photos.
It's cryptic, but my reading is that this a church service based upon the day chosen. The flimflam man is the preacher. The cameras must reference a televangelist. The flimflam man is seeking the author, an attractive woman from the crowd who she self describes as being sexualized by her face, her lipstick, and her "holes," which is a self-debasement, a hyperbolic and ironic humility consistent with the message of the Christian preacher.
The "flags fluttering ragged white" are a reference to a flag of surrender, again a Christian notion, surrendeirng one's self to the high power, but in this instance ironically to the minister.
It is mockery, as is explicitely stated ("mock a victim of the night"). The "of the night" might either mean one who is depressed or saddened, but it also alludes to a prostitute, both consistent with what this congregant has become.
"Sunday was never meant to be that way" is the clear message, as in the day of righteousness should not be this way, and is the last line, meaning it should hold special significance.
That is is my interpretation at least.
I read it as being about 'I Don't Like Sundays', as opposed to the idea, 'I Don't Like Mondays. It seems to suggest not knowing what to do with a free day. The idea of cameras watching seems to hint at Sunday in some kind of totalitarian regime of a break but still being watched. The pink eyes may be about overexhaustion in a world in which people are expected to be like machines. It is fairly minimalist in poetic description which may be important in capturing the an absence of sensory pleasures.
Thank you. Yes, sex was not my intention at all here. Vessels = blood vessels, holes = pupils of eyes, white flag fluttering = inner surrender, cameras = feeling of self-consciousness etc. The sex stuff did make me laugh though, so thanks for that, pervs. :razz:
Irish, right? You poor, repressed catholic. :razz: