
A Voyeur’s Glimpse of a Room in New York
She rests her finger on a key. G Flat.
Admires the Red No. 1 on her nails,
and then presses the key. Softly.
A single note shivers across the room.
She pauses as if some great thought
passes her mind, but there isn’t one.
And it didn’t. Her thoughts are empty
as air. Heavy as a New York summer,
as this slap-up room with its walls
painted with nicotine condensation.
And she rest her finger on A Flat,
and then presses the key. Softly.
She sighs as if some great amatory
urge passes her mind, but it didn’t.
She presses the keys, randomly.
No tune. No interlude. Just noise.
She sits quietly. Making noise as
he turns the page of The Times.
He can’t read. Can’t think. Noise
is a mind-paint, a mental rattling.
She’s just noise, he thinks. She’s
just a toothache. A fork in the eye.
He feels uniquely single. She feels
the ache of longsighted time.
She rests her finger on a Middle C.
Admires the Red No. 1 on her nails,
and then presses the key. Softly.
Written to prompt at Poetic Bloomings Edward Hopper image/ekphrastic prompt. ©Misky 2021. Image is Edward Hopper’s A Room in New York.
18 responses to “For Poetic Bloomings Edward Hopper Prompt”
This is haunting. And desperate. I love it.
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I have to admit, Wormsie, that it made me very uncomfortable to read it. I actually find it quite horrific, if not torturous.
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Wow. You wrote yourself a nightmare!
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I know. I’m in a bit of a weird mood.
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So… when I say I love it I mean I think it’s awesome writing. And writing yourself a nightmare takes some skill!
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Thanks. And I hope your day has gone well.
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I think Edward Hopper paintings do mess with one’s mood. His characters are so humanly sad and vulnerable.
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I agree, and for that very reason, I’m not a huge fan of his.
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Ekphrastic masterpiece, Misky.
And even without the Hopper, masterpiece.
Cngrats.
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Gosh, thanks ever so much, Ron.
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Wonderful Misky. I love the build up til the end. “Mind-paint” love it!
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Thank you, Benjamin!
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I love this and it complements the moody Hopper painting wonderfully. 👍
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Thanks very much, Hobbo.
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👍
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“walls painted with nicotine condensation.” puts the atmospheric filter over the scene. It feels like the painting is a portal that can be stepped into that goes beyond the facade and into the rancid meat of the reality of these 2. Excellent poeming, Misky.
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🥰 Thanks so much.
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You’re very welcome, my pleasure to read.
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