Someone says ‘look how dark it is, how black’
to a sky mottled by streetlights
almost navy blue with the singing
of bulbs whistling away shadows,
their footprints of fake dawn
greying the corners of this bedroom
so the only true night is behind lids
of clamped tight eyes
wishing I could say ‘looking how dark it is,
look how black and thick this night sits
now the hours have turned to quiet.
Carol J Forrester 
“their footprints of fake dawn/greying the corners of this bedroom”: Such an excellent image. Your words speak to me — it’s beautiful to read of these hours. 🙂
Thank you. I grew up in the countryside so moving to a town was quite a change. My definition of ‘dark’ versus a townies definition are very different things.
It’s amazing how much light pollution has stopped us from understanding what darkness can be… the concept of black can only be seen behind a closed door.
Nothing can compare to a dark night without city lights. Excellent!
This is a wonderful poem Carol. “…the singing of bulbs whistling away shadows…” I loved that line. Skys, to some degree, are “darker” over the city, smeared by streetlights, because the sky over wilderness is brilliant with stars. Even eyes clamped shut, there are continued after images. Once, in a cave, in the bowels of the earth — I experienced pure blackness. It actually caused vertigo it was so disorienting. Once I sat down, it was absolutely overwhelming.
Like Rob, in a windowless room, I found total darkness disorienting. When I close my eyes I see chakra colors, which morph into pre-Rem images.
Nice description of those shadows as “footprints of fake dawn”.
Living out in the country, away from light pollution, I am comfortable with blackness. I was once in a cave in total darkness. I found it soothing.
the singing
of bulbs whistling away shadows,
their footprints of fake dawn
greying the corners of this bedroom
so the only true night is behind lids
of clamped tight eyes
. . .an incredible image
I remember the first time my husband came up to Norfolk. That was the thing that stunned him the most after living in London all his life – no street lights, pitch blackness in the village, having to take a torch when walking the dog, and seeing the stars! After years of living here, he needs blackout curtains anywhere else. I love your final lines, Carol, which encapsulate the nights I love so much.
The lightness of “the singing / of bulbs whistling away shadows” is turned on its head by your wish of “…how black and thick this night sits,” effectively conveying the difference inherent in perception.
“how the hours have turned to quiet” … I like that word picture.
I recall a time at the Delaware Water Gap. The darkness beyond the campfire others had made swallowed us in an inky blackness. Surreal!
Oh yes….the light pollution of the city. Living in Boston, I understand this all too well. And yet there is something magical about stepping out on our 7th floor small deck/balcony and staring out at all the city lights. But — being honest…..I think it much more magical to be out in the countryside and looking up at the sky and feeling the absolute darkness around one self. Yes….here in the city, the real darkness only comes when one’s lids are clamped tight shut….IF you have heavy shades pulled down. Otherwise, I don’t think even closing your eyes (until sleep absolutely comes and then we don’t “feel” it) brings absolute darkness.