Veins are taut,
tied beneath paper
smearing words,
bend the corners
to remember
or recall, whatever
suits best.
Whichever hurts less.
Papercuts:
"It's alright,
quite short of amazing.
Something's lacking--
oh, you've dropped
words
and your mouth is leaking.
Poor poet's thinking."
Not enough of what
should be thought.
Pages fraying with touch.
Say hello with empty heads
to fill the spaces
of long pauses.
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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"bend the corners
to remember
or recall, whatever
suits best.
Whichever hurts less"
The last two lines struck me. It makes me think, specifically about memories and how we replay them in our minds; how we sometimes change them to better suit our needs or "what hurts less".
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Poets are a rare breed, the modern market for our craft, slim. Those who are true poets will relate, those with their heads stuck in stocks and dollars and T.V's and worldly success will not. The plight of the poet is loneliness...
But does it not allow us to create pennings such as these?
-
Papercuts:
"It's alright,
quite short of amazing.
Something's lacking--
oh, you've dropped
words
and your mouth is leaking.
Poor poet's thinking."
I really like that.
-
I haven't been on here very much lately, sorry about that.
I have this constant, kind of sick thought. Of being made of only very thin skin and blood and if I were to tear myself in half I would just fall into a puddle of shredded skin and blood. This poem kind of reminds me of that.
Poets, I've found, tend to have a very hard time just talking about things. They're silent, except for the metaphors and imagery they use in poetry. This makes me think that the poet is the poetry; the skin is attempting to keep all the words inside, to remain silent, because the poet doesn't want anyone to know the thoughts that are in the poet's head. But the words are just below the surface, and the words break the skin, like blood, and come flooding to the surface of the page.
"Pages fraying with touch" continues to make me think that the poet doesn't want to be known. Because others will only destroy the thoughts and the words, or ridicule, or not understand.
"Say hello with empty heads
to fill the spaces
of long pauses" The poet's words have been ruined by touch, the words that were spilling out before are now dried up and all that's left is an empty silence, instead of a silence attempting to hide words
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Amazing
You made me think with
- Something's lacking--
oh, you've dropped
words
and your mouth is leaking -
you painted a picture here in my mind
- pink
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I LOVE this one!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's so dark but also so meaningful
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indeed.
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