there is something
missing
the sun has lost its peachness
it shines only white
and i follow the leeches
beyond the limes and avocadoes
because i believe the squash
will not fail me
not so you
my good little fat bag
you were once sewn to my left breast
sweet blood clot
bunched brilliant and singing of death
your bones still scrape me
try me
you say with sugar teeth
and soon your bees find me
and rip out the bread of my heart
squirt jelly and blood
and flood with shouts of
it’s time!
it’s time!
but sylvia
i cannot become you
your hairs were escaping cats
nine lives with nine times to die
you are perfect when dead
but i am still red
and brewing in the cauldron
of skullcap and mind
you blinked a pigeon-eye smile
ms. anne
you are like me
small offerings in the toilet
but i bestow clean things
beyond your carpet dolls
and awful hands dropping spoons and nails
the grave is an egg
round and opened as your face
free of here and there
and daylight’s fleshy sneer
come
this is where god
sleeps
her voice like pink milk
creams against my nods
my nodding
unravels the knotting
i taste the ash of her laughter
the soda pop of her words
it fizzles like something alive
as it dies
and resist just one more day
though tonight when I dream
i will follow her
impatient as an incomplete poem
and become like the sea
many fingers upon the shore
but leaving
nothing on the sand
Author notes
for teresa...and the conversation we had last night...
In a list
A contest entry
- you put the poet in poetry. by apples fell.
875 points, ended October 5, 2008, 44 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 19 of 19
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though tonight when I dream
i will follow her
impatient as an incomplete poem
and become like the sea
many fingers upon the shore
but leaving
nothing on the sand
as long as you remember how to come back
I remember what this is about.
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What is the literal meaning here?
You have so many awesome lines, but I can't follow the literal.
Read: Work, by Yusef Komunyakaa
He has a line similar to some of yours
As if gods wrestled here.
You might also take note of how literal he is at times, and how he builds from that foundation. -
the pivotal line of come this is where god sleeps turned this on a knife edge
superb wrting that tugged at my heart
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Your poem, your note, reduced me.
as if to salve each wounded dove
too late, too late,
all my grails are extinguished
(silent voices on dry leaves)
as if the very fates will not
forgive me
or re-install those more worthy
of this space
where my scribbles fall
like rain
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Ah Rob...I had so hoped that you would stop by for this particular one. There are only a handful of people here now that understand what this really was about. I am grateful that you are one of them...still...
I can't tell you how hard this one was for me to express. I don't know if I've done it justice with my poor pen, but I fully believe that you know that thin line that we all must cross and how sometimes we cannot say we've been won to any side...but that it's just balancing.
Thank you, dear dear one. Thank you so much...
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So hard to crawl back OUT of the rabbit hole. But must needs explore, or behold some paler sun
where poems will not bloom
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the sylvia stanza is the best damn thing
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I have to be sincere
I don't read
i follow elipses
cut myself in angles
chew the bitter
smash the hollow
cringe on sexton, plath and death
against this river flowing dull
and flat
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You are so weird.
And so appreciated.
lol
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Tell me if you do change
anything, of course.
Always willing to return and offer up more rambling...
You know I love your stuff.
I think getting lost in your work, proves that.
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"come
this is where god
sleeps"
I'm not really certain I like the break in the second and third lines of this little stanza, but that's probably just a personal preference. This is absolutely amazing (but what else would I expect from you?) and the references to Plath's poetry (nine times to die!) are well-placed and... well, brilliantly written. The egg bit kind of reminds me of Lorca, too.
Most excellent. I hope to someday be as great of a writer as you are.
-Cristina
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I only have a few critical things to mention. Not much, but I like to get them out of the way first as they are not as important as the poetry itself.
"there is something
missing
the sun has lost its peachness
it shines only white
and i follow the leeches
beyond the limes and avocadoes
because i believe the squash
will not fail me"
- I'm having trouble with the two "ing" words real close together. Pet peeve of mine. I'm not sure I like all the fruit references here...and how you have used "peachness", but, I also have to keep in mine that this is a metaphoric piece. I'm just not sure the stanza creates a very strong beginning? Maybe if this stanza was added further in the poem, it would work. Or at least, all these fruit mentions would not stand out as much. Your second stanza is good. You do have quite a few "and's" in that second bit, maybe you could cut back on a few? Not all of course. Your last stanza is great as well...Though maybe the poem could end on "many fingers upon the shore"? I think the last two lines are unneeded. Oh and the "it's time"! repetition can be distracting, but I'm not sure how to fix that. That's all I've got critique wise.
Your poetry is always so vocal. You have to sound each bit out to get the full enjoyment out of it. But it is also not so much spoken word that it is cheap. It doesn't try to be loud, or quiet, it just, becomes. Poetry like this has a purpose. I see you here in this piece. All teeth and licorice fingers, bitten by degree and separated into oblivion.
Exactly what I would expect from you love.
Powerfully written.
Thanks so much for entering or contest.
Kenny will be around shortly to leave his thoughts.
;
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Lol...you know, for the most part, I quite agree with you on your critique. The hardest problem with a piece like this is to strike the correct balance between Sexton's and Plath's individual voices. On one hand, I wanted to stroke the page with Sexton's dark reds, but had to pull back to allow Plath's softer pinks, hence the fruit references. I saw them in the garden of life and death, wanting to give Plath first voice, leading Sexton closer to where she laid. The uses of 'ands' frequently was also another concession to both their love of that particular word and as you said, I'm a very vocal poet, lol, and they filled the staccato needed in my head. The last few line I shall keep though, due to the fact that yes, many fingers touch the shore, meaning our lives do make differences, but the death I felt they wished was pure oblivion...to leave nothing behind. Although their own poetry made sure this could never happen.
Thank you so much for really looking at the piece. Your insights are as always very appreciated as much as your kind praise and hopefully enjoyment of the poem. You are a rare poet, able to accept everything written, and still all the bits of prosey within. It was a pleasure to participate here.
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I can see that, I can, but still, you know me, I got to be honest. I can understand what you were going for, certainly. I just felt that it could be strengthened in places. Just to make some of those finer moments stand out. I did see both voices throughout. So you succeeded on capturing that here, and thank you for also making it interesting as plath and sexton are usually imitated too much on this site. I can still see your voice strong here. It's good to have icons, but it's bad to copy them. You don't do that. You make this your own. Which is the other reason why I got so lost in your piece.
And you're welcome. I try to help out when I can. It is a very fine piece of poetry, critiques aside. I think since I first started reading you I have always appreciated your voice, vocal or not. Sometimes your poems carry weight, sometimes they don't. It all depends. It was more a pleasure to have you. It's not every day that I get in contact with a poet from this site whom I've known for quite awhile.
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That definitely puts the poet back into poetry ... magnificent!f
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the last stanza is so human that it defies humanity
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missing
the sun has lost its peachness
it shines only white
and i follow the leeches
beyond the limes and avocadoes
because i believe the squash
will not fail me
absoloutely gorgeous, that ending killed. you're amazing love. absoloutely amazing.
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"bunched brilliant and singing of death
your bones still scrape me"
~ * ~
"i taste the ash of her laughter"
Mannn...speaking of brilliant...this penning most certainly is that, my Friend. I have always admired your unique, honest, raw voice, Sweetie. This one nails it to the wall. Dammmnnn. Sylvia & Anne are probably both sneering in envy & smiling in repose at your song to them, your most incredible voice. Good luck in the contest, Scribe. You rock, more than ever. Wanda
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