I rearrange myself like the elements
On the days everything is gloomy
The blood loss is captured
In however many bell jars
Two years worth of time would gracefully fit in
Little nuggets of gold
My constant thoughts are falling leaves
In a book of spells
I edit myself and crave the taste of freedom
The needle is in the arm
I am loose ribbons of blue lake water
Finding my place
Flowing with subtle and delicate movements
Flickering on and off
In individual shades of iridescent colours
Moving and twisting with ease like cloud structures
My body's full of psychedelics
As light bends through the cracks in the trees
I am a hermit in slumber
Ballgagged with a string of emotions
My gut reaction sparkles with vehemence
Obsessing over imperfections
Sleepless nights of wondering
Pucker like taut and young skin
With no sense of direction
I want you and nothing else
I want to sink into your poetry
At the top of the hill
At the end of the world
The breeze combed my ruffled hair
The precious feeling of being alive
Pulsated through my core like an explorer
That had stumbled across a time forgotten
I am a boy waiting for romance
On the park bench
Sat, motionless, like a statue in a museum
Gazing at the city below as if I was the sun
All eyes were fixed upon me in that moment
The dog's paw ripped apart my red insides
Now I don't trust myself with a hot knife
I am more than the twilight
On the dark days
Coffee poured into the thunderbird
The tadpole of the cherubs remembered
In a pocket in the echo's memory
Impervious to the fog
The cornfields are haunted dreams
You will find the truth
Soiled by the witches' fox in isolation
With an endless drone babbling on
Scared of the possibilities
I glitter each time
Frogs bleed lips in sync
Ling clings to me like a spotted dewlap
I am breathing but lifeless.
-
Author:
Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 4th, 2020 14:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 60
Offline)
Comments1
firstly, I think you have a wonderful gift for innovative imagery and I liked your write
in my humble opinion if you were to tone down the dramatic elements within your style, it will help streamline your message a little clearer,
please take no offense, I would not bother commenting if I didn't value your writing and I am certainly no authority on write or wrong, just sharing a humble suggestion: my 2 cents - for all it's worth,
No offense taken at all. I'm not a sacred cow and authors are not exempt from criticism. Having said that, I honestly couldn't give two fucks what anyone thinks about my poetry. Though everyone's allowed to have an opinion. I write for myself to express my selfhood, and I don't write for anyone else. If you like it as it is, great. If you don't like it for whatever the reason may be, cool. As long as I like what I publish then that's all that matters really, which is funny, because sometimes I look back on pieces I've written and cringe, but for the most part I'm generally content, even though I'm always determined to be a better poet. Nevertheless, I wonder and am curious as to what you consider to be dramatic about my poems, this piece in particular, and what constitutes as the dramatic elements you mentioned and think I should tone down on. By that statement I'm not sure if it's something you think I stubbornly do on purpose, but I am pretty histrionic in my madness I employ. As far as I'm concerned I don't need anyone to tell me what they think I should or shouldn't do in order to write better, or to, as you put it, help streamline my message a little clearer, or whatever the case is. No offence to you either, and I know it was just advice, but I'm just stating my opinion. Personally I'd never tell another poet or writer what I think they should do for whatever reason in order to blah blah blah. I read for what it is, and not for what something could be. If someone recited a poem for me I probably wouldn't reply maybe if you were to do this or you should've done that, or I think you should tone down on the dramatic elements of your style, it will help streamline your message a little clearer. I'm very purposeful, and not a pedagogue. That's why I'd actually reject the prospect of teaching art, unless it's an artist you're studying. It's inherent, and in most cases classes are all pseudo-intellectual bullshit post-mortems and examinations in an attempt to find the deeper meaning or tear a poet's work apart, and I'm unaffected by that. I don't think you can tell an artist what they can and can't do, or what they should and shouldn't do. Art is subjective for a reason. I had this issue when I was actually studying art, and even though I was often praised, I would also get criticised by my teachers for not doing what I was taught or what they wanted me to do. They'd tell me this is how you should draw eyes, or this is how to draw a nose, but I was more of an abstract surrealist. Although I did get a good grade, and the highest grade you could get when I took my final drama exam. I agree with William Wordsworth's definition of poetry in his preface to Lyrical Ballads, that it's a spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings, and I'm under the impression confessional poetry is supposed to be striking and truthful, alluring in its details, a gradual descent, and a dramatic monologue to capture one's attention.
lol, my bad
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