Poetry / The End (Confessions)
The sharp distinctions I had once believed
to separate and black-and-white the throng
--long stipulated based on simple things--
break broke, Ming-vased, the pieces all mixed up.
My place, mama, my feet once rooted fast
Slip, turn, cross creaky bridges (‘gators gasp)
Lines wind; lost in the dust; dipped in the Styx.
My God—
How can I glue when I don’t know the fix?
My place, mama, when did I fly from you?
—my ankle, wrenched from small-town woods by one
idea, then two, then overnight (five years)
a breeze blew from the East—swept me away.
Can’t stay—
those verdant, silent fields—alien as Mars.
The baby greening sprouts (tomato’s crook)
pinched cleanly for the flourish of the stalk
—don’t pluck too many, what will I become?
Tall tree of light or just last season’s husk?
(Remember last year’s garden? Strip my shoes
and sink my twilight toes in noon-warm soil,
as if I, too, had grown from loam—
hadn’t I?
This city reeks of people. Still—the clouds!)
Split from the split I knew once well, the doze
then put me under—threatens now to run
me over; mettle (teeth of man) scrapes cold,
a strange beast breathes sweet tempting sense (ah, me!).
I’m shattered,—
Dozed, destroyed, dear God!—the noise, the blistering silence.
How did I slot to victim of such violence?
Viewing peaceful ancient ruins crunching
underfoot; a child’s toy choking in the
Sun.
:::Free this man, his severed self soaked in
angry expectations; comet-dreams;:::—you.
My still, deep pond in Concord freezes up—
it’s separation’s coldness, and a wish
to wire every naked shore with bombs
and blow my depth back into Walden’s age;
your tour’s done; the gates are closed; the season’s passed.
The breath of summer funnel-clouds strike hail;
the hot framed arc of color (simple things!)—
and laughing ducky children kiting fields
with golden dreams as snaky clouds come closer;
Closer—
Sing, confess, repent, and cleanse…or die.
This Shell—
Dance, carouse, but do not hurt, do not destroy.
My Joy—
An instant’s life was all it saw before its death.
Climb high—
the stars beckon above you, mind the fall;
if you don’t try you suicide. Better to fall a star-gazer.
This Life—
it beats within me, beats for you still, against my will;
I’ll fall a star-gazer. I’ll die. And come back to life (that Easter).
4/19/06
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How poignant for this to happen at Easter time and too free yourself from the bonds and live again.
The imagery you use is good. I can see where you are lost searching for the answers of how you got to this point in your life.
The only thing I question is your use of punctuation. The dashes and the parenthesis are not needed as much as you have used them.
Thank you for sharing such a deep poem of yourself. May you grow stronger with each passing day.
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Lots of things I can relate to here. Like “city reeks of people”. Lots of great words but one theme carried through might make this piece a bit tighter. Feeling a little random at moments.
Amazing stuff… I absolutely loved it. Highly literary and metaphorical while still emotionally clear and powerful. I love the ending, and in fact, the religious references throughout. It seems to me that sometimes “mama” and “God” are fulfilling essentially the same role when the speaker addresses them. You might explore this a little bit. Otherwise I don’t really have any suggestions for this excellent poem.
Well, I loved this piece although I couldn’t quite tell what your were trying to get across, I had to read the description but I can feel the anger, the words moving through you, such an eclectic piece and words that bulge out and grasp for love…well I will fav this..
I can understand and see the hurt that you went through. It is a very good piece and the ending is the best. Specifically the very last line.
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