I am insomniac again.
My mind a whirlywhirl of words,
spun up and spinning through the web I weave,
from textures of the roads I’ve trod,
among the silks of fragile papers of old books,
smelling of mothballs and of too much glue.
It all collides – a kaleidoscope of stills,
the fragments, shards of ancient teacups,
fade in and out of focus, stained by dusk.
Suspended octopus of stars, rays cold
and sharp as scalpels, they, too, fade;
the patient’s blood spared a final exit.
The darkness furls itself into the fog of dawn.
Its tendrils a soft calling, hued in greens
of childhood’s grass and mossy hills, soft
as they’ll never be again and softer
than they’d been.
Alone, as always, in my dreams I trudge,
not for being weary, but for lack of shoes.
The grass grows knobbly, gritty, turns to pale
stone and the dust of dirty streets. Night.
The lamp-posts cast surreal, brassy shadows
glinting off human faces, marble through the glass of the too-tall windows.
I slow and watch and listen for the names
of people I had lived now hiding
behind the tulle curtains.
More delicate than words
and worlds, and just a breath too far
from where I huddle underneath the heavy wool
that scratches me awake. Alone.
Untamable as ever, though older, in fact,
too old to so selectively remember and forget
where I had left the pieces of the dreams I’d borrowed.
They glint at me, accusing, stark in the too-bright morning light,
Like ancient teacup shards, stained with
unfinished
(Image: Picture prompt # 1 for @Rensoul17's Where Poets Dream and Cry Poetry Challenge: https://steemit.com/wpchallenge/@rensoul17/21n8o6-where-poets-dream-and-cry)
With special thanks to the talented folks at the Isle of Write for all the help with this piece.
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This whole segment is beautiful. The segment about the hills' green was also beautiful. It seems your poems shine brightest when they are about longing, about the almost-was, and never-been.
A good theme to write about. We've all felt it. So it feels familiar, yet different. As I said, almost-was, and never-been, the distance between the poet and the reader.
Thank you @geekorner. For this, the help, the lovely sentiments. It's nice to not be writing in a vacuum (or getting those vacuous nice post/picture comments on said work.
:) After in 7 years of writing poetry I got less feedback than I do on a single one of my poems these days, I know what you mean.
Glad to help, and glad I could give these nice words and mean them too! :)
The end of each of your stanzas is so captivating, Inna, but in different ways each time and some of your imagery here is so unique that i'm not sure i've ever come across it.
your first stanza culminates in an appeal to the reader's senses, sight feel and smell, then bright and vibrant imagery to lead you the grassy knoll of nostalgia. The surreal fever dream of sieving memories through reflections of glass in opaque lighting, and a tangible reality that exists somewhere in between it all, it's so good.
this poem such an enjoyable read, like each 'turn of the page' is revealing something that truly feels new.
thank you so much for sharing, Inna.
Thank you for the lovely commentary (and the help) :-) It is all truly appreciated. Not sure just how unique any of it is. Hell - I'm not convinced anything we write hadn't already been written a million times. But I am glad it touched you.
we certainly stand on the back of giants, Inna, you are definitely correct that originality can't be judged in a vacuum.
that said, i'm glad the 1 millionth and 1 time it was written, it was written here where i could read it. <3
This poem is most enjoyable to read :)
I really like how this line describes dreams...
Thank you @lonestarpoet (a Texas reference? Or something else?). I am glad this was not a slog for you. Truly. :-)
Yes a Texas reference :) my good friend called me @lonestarpoet once and it stuck. I also have a tattoo of the five pointed star so it all ties in to we're all stars, I just happen to be from Tx
:-) contemplating getting a pal frond tattooed on my butt
What would the symbolism be? I could just look it up but I'd prefer your symbolism on it :P
My current geography, sir. :-)
I feel like your dreams and/or head space are quite similar to mine. It's a brave thing, trying to tape em down to page.
Nice stuff. Keep it up!
My dear @caleblailmusik: there is zero bravery in this. As there never is much of that when our poems are only concerned with our own thought and feelings.
I guess what I meant was the act of confronting our own contradictions, conflictions, depression and motivations, like, actually looking inside ourselves, and then cutting ourselves open so we can show it off to other people. That's brave in it's own right.
But I understand what you mean. I find it hard to justify discussing my own issues and struggles when they're held up to those of others who have suffered so much worse. But like the La Dispute album "Wildlife," the whole album is him trying to come to terms with his own depression and lack of faith because he caught his girlfriend cheating on him when a boy was shot for no reason, a woman lost her child to cancer, and a father was stabbed 27 times by his schizophrenic son, and all these cases found strength to move on, believe in God, and smile. The next to last song sums it up by saying "We all hurt in our own ways," that we "All at one point come to suffer." (Not a direct quote.) Talking about your own thoughts or feelings when others struggle too seems to counteract our humility and boosts our ego somehow, but in reality we are teaching others to live and showing them that, yeah, it gets hard and we're a little messed up over what we've been through, but there's strength to move on and passion to be found in ourselves that we can give to each other.
My God, I rambled.
You know what I'm saying.
Love,
Caleb <3
Fair enough, Caleb. And you are right, of course. <3
I don't have to be right. It's whatever :D
Awesome and well done, @authorofthings, thank you for your entry.
But of course. I'd stayed away from poetry for too long. Kind of miss it :-)