Sometimes I watch the children,
whether or not mine are among them
Split leaves and fast grays spilling about
Topiary animals and their cutters
And I have so many questions, but
I think I am too old,
So I hide my spirit from
the shame of not knowing
why my makers stopped making me
Some cunt says "it's not your fault"
Another fucking wing nut pats me on the back
My mind is sharp, alone, wrecked
No ocean or mountain can make it
forgive me for letting them win
And you will read this and think of how you knew me
You never did, you never tried
And so water reaches as the sun drys up
all time between us
A contest entry
- What in the world do we do when the central fact is untrue? by Violet Moodswing.
1750 points, ended December 14, 2009, 24 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Like being backhanded and enjoying it. Bliss.
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First.. I ask Please label this poem "adult".. so younger generation can not read..
I am willing to say.. that the meaning.. of this poem escapes me.. im not sure exactly.. This poem .. intrigues me. ^_^..
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Hmmm reminded me how I am feeling right now... great poem u have penned. Good luck n the contest
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Thanks for entering
Funny how a poem can send a readers head in a directiong based on current event and frame of reference. Of course, that is one of my favorite things about poetry. The fact that as a reader, I am an active part of it.
My first impression left me seeing references to the recent stroller recall. I think it only took 10 years and 12 finger amputations to be deemed necessary. Wasn't even a real recall. The company sends the owner a part to cover the part of the stroller that has the potential to sever their childs fingers. As you can see, it was one of those things that really irked me of late. Mega rich corporations with more money than any hundred people can spend in a lifetime, making life changing decisions based on profit and disregard for those they bled to get "theirs"
Still there is the realization that it may not be about that at all and shockingly, the world does not revolve around me.
All that said. I love the poem and the way it prods me to dig deeper. It is the kind of poem I would like to run across repeatedly over the years like those poems that lie around in old volumes of poetry that gave me my initial love for the arranging of words in ways that things are not always as they seem on the surface.
I love the ending. It reminds me that regardless of my assumptions there is always another truth to be had and that reality doesn't really change with my feeble perception of it.
Again, thanks for entering, I thouroughly enjoyed the read.
V-
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Poems like this will spill out of me like blood from a puncture.
Then I will cry after reading it no longer having remembered
that I made it.
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