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.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

12 Last Call: If I could, this would be my suicide note





If I could, this would be my suicide note

I shuck clams
Like the pearl hunter dives down
into the dark depths of the ocean
searching for a precious pearl--
a rare natural beauty that encases
within it a shimmering happiness
I shuck clams
open myself up everyday to
posibilities--scrap my hands
raw to the bone looking for my
pearl of happiness just to drown
in a sea of discarded hope

How do I forget how to breathe?
If I could....

I bleed black
Like the cutter glides the razor
'cross pale scarred skin
searching to feel in control
of the pain--to bleed
life back into themselves
I bleed black
'cross blank white canvas
wielding my blade deftly
to expunge the agony
searing my veins--each stroke
mine and mine alone

How do I forget how to breathe?
If I could....

This is where I'm supposed to
thank these gifts
the ever present glimmer of
hope that draws me each day
into this world--a world intent
on draining the life from me
the endless supply of bitter tasting
words that still the tirade allowing me
to walk this world--a world intent
on bleeding me completely dry
This is where I'm supposed to
thank these gifts
This is where I instead
curse these gifts
the belief that one day...
the relief that one day...

How do I forget how to breathe?
If only I could, I might finally
leech myself of this hope(lessness)



I normally am not fond of when a poem decides to consume me while I'm driving.  It means having to repeat lines over and over to myself in the hopes that I might remember them just right.  This was a case where I was quite content that this poem began to shape as I drove home; it gave me a chance to work through the emotions and distill some of the rawness.  I actually started this last week, but let it stew for awhile.  (Last week was not such a good week.)  Initially, the title was intended to be dispersed fully within the poem.  I, after some time with it, decided to truncate it.  Honestly probably could have left it out completely and used a title more like "Black Pearl," but I'm not quite ready to release it yet.  So for now it will stand as the title.

I also thought about leaving two couplets out completely...which also would have meant leaving out the last stanza, but....  I did end up deciding not to include it as the lead in stanza, but...



This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.  

12 comments:

  1. "I shuck clams
    open myself up everyday to
    posibilities--scrap my hands
    raw to the bone looking for my
    pearl of happiness just to drown
    in a sea of discarded hope" -- Wow, these words have an intensity that put me right inside the mind of the speaker in the poem. Really hard stuff to feel that way. You wrote this poem raw. I like it.

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  2. Ditto on Mary's comment. Those lines grabbed, and held me.

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  3. yes got that, an opening up and bleeding out of a deep inner rawness and pain. I agree with the previous comments - only hope tat it goes some way in exorcising some of that deep intense pain ~ really glad you were able to pen some of it down - brilliantly expressed - warm hugs Lib

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  4. Intense and emotionally gripping words like bleeding and scraping hands raw....the repetitive lines work very well ~

    I hate having to think of my poetry when driving...it's stressful enough to concentrate on the drive ~

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  5. Oh dear - the clam shucking and the bleeding back in are very powerful - hopeless - very powerful depiction of despair. I hope it's not autobiographical - if so, take care. k.

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  6. Sometimes a poem just hits you that way... and this one is no exception.

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  7. I shuck clams
    open myself up everyday to
    posibilities--scrap my hands
    raw to the bone looking for my
    pearl of happiness just to drown
    in a sea of discarded hope///i know mary quoted it but it is so emtoive...this is really a tight write....enjoyed thoroughly...

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  8. I think you have written a poem of deep depression. These are thoughts of helplessness that so many feel everyday. I think your metaphors were powerful in pulling us inside the darkness, the place where hope should and must dwell but find there only a dark pearl at best and a cutting or killing emptiness at worst. Exquisitely written..dark and menacing.

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  9. I can relate so much to every word you've written; sometimes, the only way to let the pain out is to run that same line over and over in your head until you can write it down. I know how maddening it is.

    Pain is something I write about a lot, and I'm really impressed with how you managed to condense so much feeling into these lines. It's often hard to do so without sounding trite, but I think you have a natural voice. Keep using it; you're a real poet.

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  10. Raw is surely the word for it, you pulled no punches. can feel the pain in the speaker, life can suck the well life out of you sometimes haha

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  11. I have found writing to be a great tool of release. You demonstrate that brilliantly in this poem. The desparation, anger, and so much more seethe throughout. Great writing.

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  12. Emotive and great. It happens to me when I drive and I try to remember it by the time I reach my destination. :)

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