Okay. So, I have company this week (well not just any company) but my mother. Which, on one hand will be great, as she is an awesome grandma who already has the boys in the palm of her hand. But, this means I won't have time to write this week, soooo I figured this would be a good time to share something I've already written.
As I've said before, although I love poetry, it's not my strong point. Maybe it's because I only write poetry when I need to release some sort of emotion--usually pain, frustration, etc. All the dark stuff. It usually does the trick for me, as I feel better after writing it. As far as sharing it, it doesn't usually make sense to anyone else.
I found this one which I think is pretty cut and dry:
A Blink of a Breakdown
I want to tumble, spat from bare air
as fear sulks, left behind by Newton’s law.
I want to ride a dirty train in some foreign country,
drowning in novel accents
where I can stand naked in ignorance,
watching strangers blow out heavy tar-smoke
like burnt souls filling the cab, laughing
at something, as if life were actually amusing.
I want to stare
at a building so breathtaking
that I actually forget
to breath.
I want to fill my lungs with ocean salt.
I want to be reborn so many countries later,
I ring the front desk to ask
what day it is.
I want to taste the speed of light.
I want to stick my tongue
In the lemon meringue sun,
Lick the gathering foam
From death’s noble steed-
Gallop faster, won’t you?
Scream,
I want to scream.
I want to plop on the fire branded sands
And wink back at the seas of possibility.
I want to give someone a thing of
value and turn away before
they smile politely,
having no fucking clue
what lay dead in their hand.
I want to hear glass shatter.
I want to be transported to magical lands
by strange mushroom drinks
concocted by uncivilized hands.
I want to stare, unblinking star by star
And know down time’s line
a spent story of light will exist
In memory of me.
I want to flee down a haunted hall.
I want to not be haunted.
I want to shatter every mountain
and feed their ground bones to the sea.
Heaven is flat, open, infinite.
I want to breath.
I want to live in the darkness
because the light shows the ugliness of humanity.
I want the darkness to not live in me.
So, those of you out there that write poetry, what moves you to start a poem? Is it emotional or more physical, like an event? I would love to read some of yours so feel free to post them!
Have a great week.
In Memoriam: Janet Reid
7 months ago
4 comments:
me, too.
You've written a fabulous poem here. Thanks for sharing. I used to write so many poems, when younger, but somehow dropped away from it. Perhaps because I don't live in a state of gloom as much anymore. I have written a few here and there ... I'll have to do some searching around. I'll post one.
It's always been overwhelming emotion that spurs me to pen poetry. I like this one, for it's open to interpretation...but it also reads like something that Alice might have written before she went down the rabbit hole. I like it...it speaks of deep, dark secrets that someone has pulled the musty tarp off of just for a moment so that the world can get a glimpse at what's underneath. Thank you for your bravery in sharing it! Wonderful!
I don't write poetry. I use way too many words. :) But I do so LOVE reading poetry. It is a healing.
Thanks you for sharing your's here. It haunts in the best way.
My wonderful new co-conspirator and partner in crime, you would want to complicate my life by making me switch back and forth between here and MySpace to be able to blog you! *big smile* Women, geesh! ;-) And that statement is probably indicative of the reason I'm 35 and single. LOL
What amuses me most about reading a post like this one is that someone like you would feel the need for the self-conscious PROfession that poetry is not your strong suit. This piece needs no such apology.
Could it use some strengthening? Maybe, but it's a solid effort from someone capable of a solid effort!
I am firmly convinced that if you can write at all, essays, fiction, etc., that it's a transferable skill, and that if your write any of those well, you'll write it all well. You prove my point, here. Oh, you might not know the technical side of it as well as some pedant in a classroom, but those can be picked up easily enough.
It's a pleasure to be reading you, Shannon, and I'd like to see some more poetry out of you. This one has good concrete imagery, which, in my old age (and as I swore I'd never be), is my one growing condition for good poetry. I live by that. This cerebral crap that so many are passing off these days (and that I've been guilty enough of over the years) just doesn't cut it. I like this poem.
Now, I know that switching between fiction and poetry can be hard - if you won't write anymore of the latter right now, I won't hold it against you - as I had to give poetry up completely when I wrote my novella, but you'd be a good partner to throw a few around with. So, you can rest assured I'll hound you about it, until I get a few!
Best wishes,
G.
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