Do the Walls of my school

Do the Walls of my school

Of my old home

Of the roads I travelled by

Do the walls remember me.

Silent as they are

In Silence do they hold in their brick hearts

The space for mystic memories.


Do the Wall on which I was pushed back and beaten

The Wall that stained with my childhood blood

Still carry the stain of an innocent bloodshed

Done in Fun, remembered in dreams still rarely.


The Wall on which I pushed a girly human

To have the first heavy Kiss

Does the Sweat that we both sweated

With Thundering hearts Synced in rapid music

Feels not does it, the wall of Passion’s beacon

The old glow of old Youth. My old youth.


The wall on which I was first named a God.

Or On which I first drew my own Van Gogh

Or the Walls that witnessed the angry tears

Of a boy in pain when his arm I wrenched

His back pushed to the Wall

His Insult pushed to his heart.

Did they not feel when little men felt little

Little men felt great

And Little men lived and died

With memories of Brick.


So many walls divide

So many walls a few home make

So many walls move from the World of Dust and Storms

To the World of unknown dreams

So many walls are grown and Fall

Like so many men.

Just as walls they live, serve and Die in Purpose

As Little as Valid

As Large confusing

Yet exists.

Just as Men.


Or are not men

And Walls.

Our memories not our own

That no memory of living present exists, its all in Past

All in walls

Not yet broken Not yet Lost

But never to live forever.

Even Bamiyan broke, Broke the Solid walls of golden pasts

Lost were so many walls of living science so so many times

Lost were Cows, dogs and Human dreams

Once living, breathing present dreams

In nothing of old blindless lost.

Yet new walls are born and baptized

With new Blood,Sweat, Desire.


So many walls Lost,found and in Making


Does the walls of my own life

Of my Childhood, My Youth

My slow Decaying Age

Does and Will

They Remember me

Pine for and dream of ?


Do not say never so easily

For Never were Walls Forever

So hidden in minute moments

I share myself

In Slow hope

That My own would not abandon

Thus to future I look

Through the walls of Glass

I question of Love, of Remembrance

Yet Do not say never So easily

Would the Walls never remember me?

4 thoughts on “Do the Walls of my school

  1. This is my favourite of the three; it has un’dertones of expression, as the exasperation of sense perceptions gives it a symbolical taste. I think, content-wise, you are reaching a distinctive approach to poetic consideration, and that is very good. The improvements are very tangible.
    I still do not know, though, where you cull inspiration in terms of formality. The way you compose is unintuitive, and poetry lavishes far too much on intuitive readings. In sum, I have to reshape your poem while I read it, otherwise I cannot capture its direction. You don’t assist me in doing that essential task, you see? Your verse, stanzaic and sound division must be extended. An appositive parenthesis can solve most issues, but telling you this might make it harder, since we are unaware of the viability of devices that don’t seem natural to us (hence why cheap, parataxic poetry is generally shunned, it feels unnatural). Yours isn’t parataxic, it’s mostly syntaxic, which poses its own myriad of different land-mines you must avoid.
    Examples of how I would redivide what might not work:

    So many walls lay lost, found, in making,

    But — will the walls of my own life,

    of my childhood, of my youth,

    of my slow and decaying age;

    Will they remember me?

    Pine for and dream of? (I could not truly make sense of this specific verse, but it’s probably mea culpa)

    I do not know if you were educated through Shakespeare in youth, it would explain the inflection of syllabic mayhem, as many English-native poets suffer from the same. I also do not know if your Capitalisations are meant to represent constant symbols, like Death and Moonlight, or perhaps they hold another meaning that I can’t decipher.
    So, English sound creation functions much in the coda of words, which means: what gives a mellifluous tone to English speech is the last syllabic tone in which it ends. This is, for example, where poetic cadence stems from. My native language, Portuguese, doesn’t really have reliable devices for cadence, as our syllabic centre is usually mid-word, making it easy to dispense most last syllables or omit them al-together. If English gives you good cadence, then you must unbalance that cadence by distressing the verse; a bit complicated, but that’s also why enjambment was initially conceived, to destabilise the production of sounds.

    The best possible advice I can give you, considering the direction in poetry I assume you are taking, is to read T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets and look at how he divides thought. He stands in the middle of you and I, meaning he is looser and less stiff than I am, but more structured and intuitive than you are, and he can teach you much.

    I hope I helped!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hope you helped? Hope you helped?
      You made a very disturbed man very happy today. I would reach out to you with my name for sure. If I had enough money now I would have flown to portugal to meet you. Yaahh but planes run on non emotional fuel, or so it seems.

      Liked by 1 person

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