I fight to breathe with every step we take.
My lungs constrict in pain deprived of air,
which you so willingly do share with me.
I long to taste your warm soft lips against
my own -- resuscitating -- breathing life
once more into the very core of us.
I wonder how began this path of us
and ponder how exactly did we take;
when I was so completely set on life
alone -- where only I need breathe the air,
which barely was enough to fight against
the troubled fears that dwell inside of me.
I had defined my life around just me.
I never once believed I'd be an us;
I hoped -- but hope is hard when up against
depression threatening each breath I take.
To think that love somehow was in the air
was more than I could wish for in my life.
And then you saw your way into my life;
unfazed by walls I built to safeguard me.
You barged right through like they were made of air;
You were so certain there would be an us.
You played me well -- your little give and take --
'til it was you I wished to lean against.
but still anxiety does crash against
the doors unlocked by you. and so give life
to crazy thoughts that only you can take
away. With just a touch you quicken me --
unravel all my fears -- and steady us
so that I long to breath you in like air.
I'll never know how you saw through my air
destroying the facade. It is against
all reason in my mind that there's an us,
but I no longer can imagine life
where you, my dear, are not a part of me.
Alone is not the path I choose to take.
You are my air with every breath I take.
It seems against all odds you fought for me--
with love -- intent on bringing us to life.
the first (and second...and third...and fourth) time i came across a sestina i quickly passed it by. when i finally returned to it, i admit there was great satisfaction in the completion, as well as figuring out the pattern so that i could stop looking back and forth at the explanation of the form. (i look back at i now and my excitement dissipates...it's okay...the stanzas feel like separate poems stuck together as apposed to one flowing story...it does follow the expected pattern of the sestina...but...i don't know...just but...)
when i saw the sestina being introduced on dVerse~Poets Pub's FormForAll (presented by Gay Cannon), i admit i was a bit hesitant to attempt another. but Gay Cannon employed Matt Quinn who did a wonderful job expanding my knowledge of the form. (i have to admit that had i seen the words iambic pentameter when i first came across the sestina i would never have tried it in the first place.) so after a bit a wavering (and reading of some other sestina explorers at dVerse~Poets Pub), i decided to give it a go. and of course crazy me decided to attempt exploring this form with iambic pentameter (what a scary thought).
for future reference, Matt was right about choosing you words wisely...for i did not. 'against' pretty much killed me; 'take' was far from a piece of cake; and 'air' was trickier than i thought. i will have to do my best to keep in word choice should i try my hand at another sestina.
|My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,|
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).
...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
When They Come
imagine possessing the ability
to restrain the irrational unstable you
binding the fears
so as to reveal the real you
when they come to take me away
will the straightjacket be strong enough
to protect me from my mind
imagine throwing the switch
turning off the internal diatribe
keeping you from being you
when they come to take me away
will the current be powerful enough
to disrupt the flow of thoughts preying on me
imagine locking yourself away
throwing away the key
finally containing the anxiety
coursing through your body
when they come to take me away
will the padded cell be firm enough
to protect my mind from bombarding thoughts
imagine wishing you were one
of multiple personalities
not from an external threat
but from the one residing within
I just had a conversation with myself
the men with the straightjackets
must be salivating at the mouth
so last week was a fluke (breaking into the double digits). i suppose stage fright has managed to weasel its way into cyberspace. so, if i'm lucky i'll make my way into dVerse~Poets Pub for their sixth OpenLinkNight at around 145 joining a vast array of talented poets.
the above string of verses is a little odd for me (which is saying a lot considering). i admit i was originally at a loss for what to write about. having recently posted a 'batch' of pom seeds (plus ramblings & tweetoetry), i had thought to use the seed, "what will become of me / when I squeeze / the last bit of ink / out of my veins." i even wrote it down and pondered where it might take me, but strangely i was haunted by three ramblings (the first, third and fourth italicized stanzas above) from my recent last 'batch' post. somehow they merged to into the above entity.
i must also admit, that i thought to do an accent with when reading the italicized stanzas. i changed my mind to just reading it a bit softer. then...i just couldn't help myself...i played with the effects on the four stanzas.
Monday, August 22, 2011
|Bursting with Pom Seeds|
(image by rmp, that's me)
for sanity sake, i intend to break these 106 past days into two batches. so here goes...
Pom Seeds Batch #6
- I'm tired of living these lies / it's time to rip away my mask / to see beneath my sad disguise [potential octain in the making] (unmasked itself in reverse order in an octain, beneath the lies)
- I wish I had the words to heal this hurt / to drive away the stinging pain you feel / the world is stained with many tear-filled shirts / so cry (unfolded itself into an Ottava Rima, tear stained healing)
- he laughs the bitter taste out past his lips / then turns the remnants over on his tongue / to savor them as if a robust wine (evolved into a sweet tasting poem, devil's laugh)
- she snuck in / under cover of night / shaking my world / like a spray can (inspired by OSP this unraveled in a poem called Graffiti'd: One Night Impression)
- I walk in a world not my own / but of my own making
- what will become of me / when I squeeze / the last bit of ink / out of my veins
- my heart quakes / earth-shattering tremors / only I can feel / course through me / I search for safety / the open embrace / of...
Ramblings (bold = new)
- silence can be just as profound as the perfectly spoken words (oddly enough the essense of this ramblings found its way into a recent attempt at writing a Ghazal, With Words)
- I just had a converstaion with myself ~ the men with straightjackets must be salivating at the mouth
- do I write the poem ~ or does the poem write me?
- i need a happy though ~ my lips long to feel the contours of a smile
- the taste of silence was never so sweet ~how many different ways can the above line be twisted?~ (i found two ways...which lead to three poems; Kiss Me Senseless, Sweet Kiss, and The Sweet Taste of Silence)
- why do I open myself up to a world that does not know me, yet knows me better than those who do
- my feet despise being confined ~ when the sun shines high in the sky
- can you see the lie behind my smile? can you hear the pain hiding in my laugh? (i'm not sure if this was meant to be a ramblings or a pom seed for i did not mark it appropriately and while i think i might have intended it to be a pom seed i have decided to place it amongst my ramblings)
- when they come to take me away ~ will the padded cell be firm enough ~ to protect my mind from bombarding thoughts
- when they come to take me away ~ will the straightjacket be strong enough ~ to protect me from my mind
- I taste a little bit of sunshine on your lips ~ a whole lot of tomorrows in your kiss
- fickle tears ~ they pour when sad ~ they pour when happy ~ they thunder when hurt ~ you'd think they'd pick an emotion and stick with it
- is it wrong that thinking about being happy makes me sad?
- I wish I had the words ~ to heal this wound ~ but they seem to elude ~ still I try ~ pouring out word after word ~ hoping I'll find the perfect mix (i feel like this could potentially stand on its own as a poem or act as a pom seed...)
- pathetic really ~ the way anxiety grips my heart ~ as I step outside myself ~ reaching out ~ to those on the inside of the circle ~ I skirt (could technically be classified as a tweetoetry, but...)
- ~ why do I live like this? one pill...many pills...I need to find an answer (thoughts of a poem lingered in my head upon writing this, With Every Word... In Every Action...)
- I don't have any thoughts lingering in my head ~ Is that what peace feels like?
- ~ her giggles are like candy ~
- anxiety's peace ~ tastes like profanity ~ on virgin lips (thoughts of calling this a poem in its own right still linger)
- forgive my lack of social graces... (part of a recent ramblings post, social-less soul)
- Information overload
- I woke with rose colored glasses and the world was as only I could dream it to be
- my mom use to day; we're never lost; we're just misplaced
- i hate days like today; where i'm blindsided; punched in the chest; days when all i want to do is curl up into a little ball and disappear
- "you're growing."; am I? I don't think I'm growing; maybe just walking outside myself
- love is pain and sorrow; wrapped in disguise; it laughs at me; with its sweet intoxicating lies
- I see myself in black & white; brilliant colors surround me; poke at me; eager to caress me with their warmth; but they bounce off of me
- I will live forever like this; in shadows of who I long to be
- you put me on a shelf and stare at me/ hold me on a pedestal as though I were a queen (I hear this like a song with a biting sound.) (this finally founds its voice in conjunction with the lines below to form a song called Shine.)
- but you don't listen to a word I say/ nor see the tears that stain my face (continuation of "you put me on a shelf...") (this finally founds its voice in conjunction with the lines below to form a song called Shine.)
#35, 36, 27
~paint me a picture~
touch me with your brush stroke
harsh and loud
smooth and soft
splash me with luscious color
dark and intense
bold and beautiful
transport me with your passion
outside of myself
into a wistful dream
~three little words
words I long to hear
refuse to form on the tongue
a mere I love you
the words should come easily
when I spead about myself
#39 (senryu - ish)
he speaks forcefully
unaware he's showcasing
pointing out others' failings
where is his mirror?
does he see their shortcomings
reflect on his leadership?
I'm a broken record
when will You adjust the needle
so I may finally belt out my true anthem
I want to love me
why is that so hard to do?
please just show me how
i so long to uncover
beauty buried deep within
#43 (#ospchat on how emotion impacts writing)
~Poison or Drug
two emotions fuel me ~ depression
that threatens to consume ~ longing
for anything but
writing's a letting of poison
or drug to forget
I found him there
having poured all of himself
into his masterpiece
his skeleton fingers
still held the tool
used to steal his life
to starlit skies
their last rays
was his seven
silently I sit
watching the stream
pass me by
as does my life
words ebb and flow
while I ponder
to tweet or not to tweet
are like dandelion
where the wind
there's a moment
a split second
where I think
rather I believe
in that fleeting moment
that split second
how love feels
stop your obsessive tweeting
now I'm wide awake
for heaven's sake
~set me free
uncage me of love
give me wings so I might soar
just unlatch the gate
let me go so I might find
with you is where I belong
standing in the doorway
waiting for my world to stop shaking
is how I live my life
a hell of my own making
intent on burying me alive
~beneath the mask
removing my mask
is like breaking the surface
and finally breathing
#55 (inspired after watching an episode of The Glades)
~Purgatory and Hell
an orange jumpsuit
is my purgatory
for believing you loved me
for stealing my heart
your punishment is burning in hell
six feet under