Shutting downsystems on auto-pilot
thanks for coming
too late
but all the same;
so say your goodbye
no words
too late for the emptiness
action has spoken
so save me your hollowness
I'm already gone
Empty
I'm fucking empty
these bones
my cup
empty
crimson gone
the earth
a little darker
Can you see
the damp
bend your knee
touch the soil
and let the regretful wind
comb your hair
Nature's clock
nob-less
to turn back
to reverse
the sunset of yesterday
Sometimes
impossible
second chances
Some windows open
only for a moment
painted closed
forever stuck
as old photographs
yellowed with white borders
as roses picked
faded and brittle
So, just stand on the naked plain
and toss your handful of dirt
diminutive
the gouge
of earth prepared
taking back
the flower folded
petals as little arms
wrapped in peace
wrapped in silence
__________
alt first stanza:
Shutting down
systems on auto-pilot
thanks for coming
too late;
so say your goodbye
leaf me your autumn words
dusk me for the noon
barren your branches
hallow the hollow whipping wind
mauve me to indigo gone
7 comments:
the alternate first stanza sounds rather similar to your sensual verses, in my opinion, but the poem is haunting as is the immediate prior post.
Thanks Bel. Kind words are always welcome. :-)
Forgive me for 'personalizing' this for a moment, but this poem had a little more oompf than it might otherwise have had, speaking to the mood that I have found myself in the last couple of days and my point, which isn't often one that I make, very rarely, since it comes natural most of the time to look for the positive side, but sometimes it just needs to be said as is, sometimes things (situations, feelings, etc) just are a pile of crap and that is all there is to it, sometimes it is just too dam' tiresome to keep trying (to find that positive angle, to look past, beyond, elsewhere) the most notable part within this in regards to the above is the part about the window, painted shut, sometimes optimism and the whole 'things could be worse' observation that always seems to be voiced somewhere, by someone, and often smugly, aptly albeit for the statement remains true, things can always be worse, but sometimes it is just the very last thing a person wants to hear. Sometimes there is a long way over to that next window and denying that could hardly be healthy. Forgive too my messiness, late hours of late that I keep here. I could be tempted to say, though were I to think a little more about it, I could find better, but fucking has to be one of the most brilliant and expressive words ever invented, and so versatile. Nothing says what it wants to say in quite the way that fucking says whatever it is that it is wanting to say in the context it is being used. I'm fucking empty takes the place of a couple of dozen exclamation marks, any synonym of very or incredibly or exceedingly just does not cut the mustard in the way that the use of this word, in this way, does. No ifs, ands or buts, empty, no discussion necessary. And it only highlights anew your impressive ability to put forth succinctly that which you mean to. Were I to write a one word comment to this it would be something like 'okay.', okay as in received, heard, nothing that needs, could or should be said, red is red and blue is blue and talking has nothing to do with either. Your alt version is beautiful, more on that later, but the original version is striking, fundamental, raw, plain and dry meant in the most admiring sense, the lack of varnish so to speak (plain, dry, unvarnished on the one hand completely inappropriate words to use in description for the writing for itself is neither of these things), in tone perhaps I should add for clarity, one hopes, gives this opening stanza an edge that is seldom seen in expression of any kind. From the gut. thanks for coming, give me a couple of hours and I could write you pages on this line, the summarized conclusion of which would be genius. I mean seriously, I need a minute right here to decide what to do first, clutch my heart, applaud, sit in entranced wonder, dab my lashes, hooray language and its ability, when used so skilfully, to speak a thousand words for every one used - all at once, or over and over around and about again, one then the other, the question of a decision shows its own futility the moment it is speculated upon. Another comment meant in the best possible way with the most amount of admiration is the way in which you say things said many times before but when you say them it is as though they never have, as in for example the part about the passage of time being irreversible, were one to break it down, take it is parts, it would be a challenging task to explain exactly why it works the way it does as a whole, but in some way beyond my ability to pinpoint, it is word magic. bend your knee...toss your handful of dirt and there it is, the point of no return, the point of utter wowedness, catapulted, lost within, doomed to wait until the heights have passed and a second comment then can begin.
Ooops :-D knotting my hanky for paragraphs.
Dear Sweetest, I'm impressed that you're impressed so. I wrote this one back to back with the poem that preceded this one, the first I posted right away as it was as I wanted from the writing, but this one I let sit and worked on, usually not a good sign. Both poems capture how my day starts, the utter futility of the situation we're in at work as events unfold and I witness idiots being idiots as the fate of 300 families goes down the drain, all so un-fucking-necessary it would make your head spin. These poems are raw, written before the conscious mind fully opens, before the second cup of coffee, before the flower greets the sun.
I want to, as I have said a thousand times before, your comments are the oxygen in my world. They give me what I need to continue, to write another and then another. Thank you. :-)
Ms Storm, you are correct and the poem is dark. However, your discourse on the word "fucking" actually has me turned on. Believe that I am a fully hetero female, but there is something in your tone... I hope that neither you nor Trée take offense because I mean none.
Bel, I have a feeling Ms Storm will take no offense whatsoever. In fact, I'm quite confident your comment will make her smile; as it did me. :-)
Wide enough for cheeks to ache. :-D
Poppet, it is very interesting to perceive which poems you refer to in the manner that you have with this one, with surprise at the esteem in which it is held. And in response, I always feel like advising you to just face the fact that whether you feel that you have what you wanted or not, whether you could, and I long ago gave up the belief that such a thing is an impossibility when it comes to you, improve upon it with editing or a re-write, to face the fact a graph used to measure the quality of your poetry need start only at very good.
Reading this again this morning, still the very first stanza arrests in a way that one literally remind oneself to snap out of it and to continue on to the rest of the poem. It is, or rather it could, have ended right there and at 67 words a minute (think that is what my FB typing test resulted in :-D), a couple of hours as said might go some way to incorporating the many reasons why this stanza was loved. In all honesty, once I hit thanks for coming awe brims over and the rest just adds spillage. Slipping and sliding, bring your skates, and you can teach me how to pirouette. The futility and the recognition, with recognition sprouting like branches of a tree, separate, individual and directed accordingly, the magnitude of gatherable meaning within these few words is just, as I think perhaps I may have said above, a great testament to the unbounded powers of communication that words can have when used as ably.
Can you see
the damp
bend your knee
touch the soil
and let the regretful wind
comb your hair
Essential poetry to summarize, opportunity none this morning as I had hoped to sit undisturbed a short while. I look back over the last couple of months and posts that I have finished commenting upon are far and few between, but I take solace in knowing that I will return to them, perhaps later rather than sooner, but without doubt. This one too.
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