I have been to, and through, many odds and ends
Prison and failure, the allure of insanity rote power
Fist on flesh, and breast in mouth; from the Dog Star -
- Sirius to precessions of light, buildings, and noise.
And the women -- how they came to go away
With endless limp reasons for infinite friction
Along the colorless side of traffic, ignored as
Many moved past, and by, parallax-ing need.
At war, I was, out to get and gut my soul just because
I watched families eat one another out of boredom
Out of jealousy, the good ol' fashion American way
When our old ones die, the vultures renounce order.
Perhaps, I remember feeling ancient from the start
Different, like there was something I had to believe in
Love, or violence -- premonitions, unstoppably vague
Knowing better, but erased by birth to dismiss fate.
What will I be since I cannot finish anything real?
I recall Herman Hesse and his words more than ever
My entirety is made up of stories, and compressed dreams
Webbed in graph, and accumulation, to serve none.
Since I know that I can take nothing with me but
Repetitious separation coupled by sin and longing
The want of a cure for bad symbolism, and all names
Given out of habit and circular supposition when born.
As I think of the numbers and victims of circumstance
I consider those whose ash I tread upon, on my way
To 'becoming' a man, and prove something to someone
about learned behaviour and competitive annihilation.
I never thought the day would come along when I could
Appreciate the fruit trees, equally spaced out in rows
So balanced as to respond perfectly to care and work
Dependent on man, but only because it wants to be.
Is it some secret art, this co-dependency between us
Can any man measure the satisfaction of giving life
Even as he goes from plow to gun, or horse to car
God is most certainly in everything we choose to miss.
Author notes
Written August 17th, 2004
In a list
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Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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Yikes, profound piece of writing. Not good for my 10pm frame of mind
I'm sorry I can't give a better comment, but that's the way the cookie crumbles I guess.
In stanza 3, you wrote something about the "ol' fashion American way" and I was wondering if perhaps you meant "ol' fashioned"?
This made me think. Nice write.
Cheers,
~Tal~ -
Thanks for entering my contest! This piece was chock-full of stuff to interpret, but it seemed to all revolve around one concept. The thing is, the concept was abtract, so the whole piece ends up being up to the reader to interpret and receive. Great work, and good luck!
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LOL
I just noticed your quote. Oh to be a fly on the wall! LOL
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A lovely surmise; you are too kind.
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horus8,
It's been a while since I've read your wondrous thoughts. This is ineed a PROFOUND work. I have had my fair(fare)share of life's rollar coaster ride myself, and it is true, life is simply life...It is how we choose to live that dictates our rises and falls. Your last line brings it full circle. Our interaction has made it possible for you to get a finite picture of who I am, this poem gives me that same privilage. You are gifted. I can only hope that someday the muse that urges your magic makes it all worth it. Excellent prose here. Good luck in the contest.
Much Love
Renee -
a luke warm fart in a tornado
I beg to differ, since the accident, all of my purses match my wheels and name tag. Which is more than I can say about your taste in fur.
Nobody wears lemming anymore, it's so passe'. -
nice shoes... too bad they don't match your purse
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In stanza 1: the phrase "insanity rote power" is constructed noun-adjective-noun and, as such is not grammatical - must be poetic license. In stanza 8: I am not sure how a singular fruit tree can be equally spaced out in rows. Don't worry, a common error in writing. It can be repaired.
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90 percent hair, 10 percent feces
Nice dress, what colour is that?
Cornucopia of plums? -
Right.
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long winded
Thanks for catching my typo on accumulation.
As for the point, it's rather simple, there is no point to life
it just is. -
Holy Carp... I think you are an awesome poet. A very profound piece. One that will be hard to beat in this contest, I'm sure of that.
~Bezoar -
zzzzz....
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wow... windhover3 seems to have covered most of what i was going to say... i would like to add though that i like they thought behind the words... and the way it becomes almost transparent... until you uncover it again a few lines later... good luck in the contest...
Just Me...
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This generates some interesting turns of phrase which tweak the mind- whirling contemplations of identity. I was a bit baffled by fragments presented as sentences (stanza 6) and other sentences presented as fragments (stanza 3, or maybe there was an implied colon). I guess I don't see the intent behind the punctuation. The effect on me was to create a sense of muddled impressions, and rejection of distinction.
The last line is particularly difficult to interpret as "what we choose to miss" seems to be held up as a reflection of the co-dependency and the giving of life, the exact things being contemplated.
First 3 stanzas set up an effective context, fourth stanza loses me, 5th sets me thinking of too many souls in one breast, but "webbed in graph and accumilation (accumulation?)" lost me. Sixth doesn't move despite the "since". Seventh and eight worked well together, but struck me as disjunctive from the before and after.
Great use of language as atmospherics, but I lost the point.
Brian -
"Just when I think I'M done you pull me back in " Damn , this was well, searching for a word here, astonishing. Your word power always leaves me feeling as if I am on a never ending escalator. Up again and again. You know this is wonderful. I tell you nothing you do not know yourself. Interesting though I am going to read it again, Catressa
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