I was supposedly a baby once
and came into light from warmth and darkness,
from beyond the horizon,
a shipment of lust packaged up in skin and fur
with spine and stomach and brain beneath flesh.
I came out eating poetry like a meat grinder,
wielding a whisper in the silence,
a discharge like crossfire
through this existence, this electric dream.
And your judgment, your insane analysis
pulls like elastic and springs back like plastic,
I’m a gymnast caught in a freeze-frame pause
then flipped into the reverse like
an addiction that skids to a halt
and leaves burn marks--
treads across the floor where you wax
philosophic and trophic,
but without food for my thoughts,
I’m left groping and scraping
the film from your teeth,
the mud from your boot.
I was supposedly your child once
and grew beneath your branches
all prickly with thorn and rough edges.
The leaves never came out from the buds
They dried up and left your arms bare.
I squinted at the sun and yelled into the air,
mocking the god, mocking the faith
that rose up from your roots.
They were buried there like skeletons,
like tombs from which you partake
and feed into your veins, your mouth, your face.
I smell the death on your breath.
It rages out with putrefied prejudice,
unpunished and stagnate,
it slices off the top of my scalp
and dumps anger in my chest
like a shovel to a coal chute,
the fuel to release me finally catches.
Cast off from the trunk, I’m a broken limb,
but like a starfish, soon fills in where severed
and I float to shore with the tide.
The following users say thank you to tlhopkinson for this useful post:Forgewright
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!! As soon as I digested the last word I was immediately taken to my last trip to L.A. I let myself be talked into going to a rave bar with a few younger co workers and left the place with a similar mind as I have after reading your poem @tlhopkinson. Where in the hellshitdamn did this come from? I mean how do you.............. what is the............... kinda creepy but not really......... well yeah........
I'll have to revisit this one with a slight drift on..........
Weird freakin' words from @Forgewright got this one going and then it morphed into my most recent identity mini-crisis. I feel like the ending is a little too wrapped up. I'll have to see what my poetry professor thinks of it. Glad you found something relatable in it KE . This is what comes out when I'm writing midday after a poetry drought and I'm sober. Yup, time for a beer.
Wow.... Give Trish a day off and BAM. I'd have to be a supersonic idiotic disconnected brain infected super duper dumbell to try and beat this.
Its like Bada Boom and Bada Bings illegetimate baby. Bada ass wieghed in at 8 lbs and 6 ounces of dang. I was like "What!!!" and stuff.
Thanks @Forgewright, glad you enjoyed it... I have to admit, I did feel better after... and ready to write more!
I read this as two poems Trish and enjoyed both. The separation between the two are obvious. The last line of the first being" the mud from your boot." I do not know why I relate to this poem in this manner, but it feels natural to me that way. I have always enjoyed the fact that no two readers interpret a poem the same way. And I would imagine this one will fall under that premise. I have read this poem ten times and come up with two. Maybe your deviation of style, maybe I'm on my way to hiding my own Easter eggs this year.................. don't know.
I had a busy week end and when I sat down to Thoughts last night and saw you posted I couldn't wait to read it. This is one I'll probably enjoy reading over and over and will not remember ten words..................... Dementia?!??????????!!!!!!!!!?????????
Well now, that's quite a disconcerting statement............... I was okay not knowing what the poem was about until you mentioned it............ Now I have to know................... by all means do enlighten me...............
Sorry to hear that. Both my parents are dead. My Mother was a calm, sweet and loving woman. My Dad was harder than the hinges on the gates of hell. I didn't understand him when I was younger and by the time I was old enough to figure him out, it was too late. I miss them both greatly...............
Fodder for poetry sounds like a harsh way to describe a parent. I don't wish to pry, some things are better left unknown. Given I do not know the context of your relationship with your father and you have obvious disdain for him. Hopefully there is a chance for reconciliation before it's too late...........................
Oh I thought she meant -Hello mudder, hello fodder, here I am at camp Granda.
My pops was no pops at all. However he taught me something most valuable.....Independence
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