A A A

Register | Lost password?
Forgewright's challenge - Severed
August 11, 2013
9:18 pm
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
1
5

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
Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 11, 2013
11:12 pm
Moderator

Points: 7920
Thanked 179 times
2
0

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..........

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 11, 2013
11:29 pm
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
3
0

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.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 12, 2013
1:45 am
Moderator

Points: 8462
Thanked 153 times
4
0

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.

images1.jpg

Attachments
I am a man with one distinguishing manner. I view life as a nonstop roll by circus. Whatever my senses signal to my brain, it is received as humor.
August 12, 2013
10:08 am
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
5
0

Thanks @Forgewright, glad you enjoyed it... I have to admit, I did feel better after... and ready to write more!

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 12, 2013
1:26 pm
Moderator

Points: 7920
Thanked 179 times
6
0

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?!??????????!!!!!!!!!?????????

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 12, 2013
8:12 pm
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
7
0

I could tell you more about what it's about, but it would probably ruin it for both you and me :) . Glad you liked it :) . Extra flattered that you couldn't wait to read it!

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 12, 2013
9:09 pm
Moderator

Points: 7920
Thanked 179 times
8
0

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...............

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 12, 2013
9:42 pm
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
9
0

Let's just say I have a parent that I'm less than impressed with.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 12, 2013
11:49 pm
Moderator

Points: 7920
Thanked 179 times
10
0

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...............

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 13, 2013
12:38 am
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
11
0

I'll miss my mom :) . Assuming of course I outlive her. The rest, well, there are still poems to be written.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 13, 2013
4:46 pm
Moderator

Points: 8462
Thanked 153 times
12
0

If I wrote about my pops it would be more of a slam. I love the hell hinge reference Killer. I need me some of those quip type phrases.

I am a man with one distinguishing manner. I view life as a nonstop roll by circus. Whatever my senses signal to my brain, it is received as humor.
August 14, 2013
12:41 am
Moderator

Points: 12030
Thanked 228 times
13
0

If nothing else, he's fodder for poetry, I'll give him that but nothing more.

Wine is bottled poetry. ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
August 14, 2013
11:12 am
Moderator

Points: 7920
Thanked 179 times
14
0

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...........................

Those individuals who deem themselves perfect barely scratch an elbow in their fall from grace. Wm Steele
August 14, 2013
3:57 pm
Moderator

Points: 8462
Thanked 153 times
15
0

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

I am a man with one distinguishing manner. I view life as a nonstop roll by circus. Whatever my senses signal to my brain, it is received as humor.

Most Users Online: 144

Currently Online:
20 Guest(s)

Currently Browsing this Page:
1 Guest(s)

Top Posters:

c4a1g: 611

craigb12: 509

DivRem: 303

luv2rite: 260

Member Stats:

Guest Posters: 8

Members: 8180

Moderators: 7

Admins: 1

Writing Stats:

Groups: 5

Forums: 53

Topics: 3688

Posts: 13557