feeling like sharing… argh. don’t laugh…

Hey kitties-

I started writing poetry, mostly bad, long ago. In fact, I don’t remember a time I didn’t. I love language but often do a shit job in really getting things out. I’ve been attempting to become a better writer for a few years now. Slowly, I’m bleeding out slightly better song lyrics and poetry… I think being able to write in these blog thingies helps immensely. All the sudden I pay a bit more attention to each word I put on the page. Language becomes more than a collection of letters that create basic visuals… I want them to dance. Most of the time I get them to at least hobble around a bit, but there is a pleasure in the journey.

I wrote something that I’ll share because I’m just tired enough to do it. (Better judgement is already fast asleep in bed right now! lol) So, no laughing kitties… I usually suck and I know it. The best part is that I’m ok with it… So without further delay, here’s a lengthy poem I purged from my cranium recently. (works pretty well read aloud, however, torturing those near you is not required or encouraged… heh heh)

Splinters

I connected with you on that day
and every day afterward
I think I felt it before I ever walked
knew you before I became this girl

the words danced their way to my tongue
crooked toes from a place deep inside
locked down tightly to keep it safe
hesitant steps from hurt and doubt

I found courage that day
to set it free- a triumphant reply
I let myself feel it – say it
and then opened the tears

I read to you a passage from my soul
never fully told to another
I opened those tattered pages
let escape- my tale unfolds

if I pull away one day
gently reel me back in
if you take my hand- hold it to your lips
I’ll hush painful memories and stay

I would’ve eaten broken glass
to keep myself from spilling those words
I needed to know for sure
girlish pride and self doubt can be cruel

I stowed a box of my dreams
corsetted down the ropes
I bound it tighter to keep it quiet
’til I felt the splinters bleeding me

there has been no other before
no, never a symphony like this
there is nothing I can do to stop it
no going back from being freed

in this lifetime of shadows lessened
hands travel to whisper intentions
unspoken- when common words aren’t enough
hands lace into bonds unbreakable

a sharp breath to weigh me down again
and hovering I see us beneath
can this be the prize to some karmic game show
and can I really be a fortunate one

if I would’ve swallowed the glass
and silent tongue couldn’t return your words
if I’d kept battened down inside
quiet torture all that remained

would this have passed as fancy does
in desperate cries I’d keep silent
could this have emerged without it
in this alone- I trust

(c)jEN August 2004
Don’t steal my stuff please… or I’ll send the monkeys to do unspeakable things…;)

Good night dear kitties~
smooches of the purged,
jEN
———————————————————-
Current Mood: emptied… in a good way
Current Music: none… going to bed in a minute…

3 thoughts on “feeling like sharing… argh. don’t laugh…”

  1. Hey jEN,

    I like “Splinters” the verse has a cold sharp edge which is relfected in the title, nice one.
    Just wondering, do I detect a Sylvia Plath infulence? Did I read one of your poems on the polywogg blog? Pity at the moment I can’t check.

    Kev

  2. Thanks Kev!

    I know the name you mention, but have no idea what she’s done… I may look her up. I don’t really read poetry, I just use it for getting things out of my head. I keep meaning to get yours read though- since there’s a personal connection and all, but I don’t typically go to the poetry section of the bookshop if you know what I mean…

    Good lord- it’s early here… I need to get a pot of coffee on. 🙂
    smooches~
    jEN

  3. Hi jEN

    I know what you mean about reading poetry I have had to make a point or reading other poets. The biography of poets can at times be more interesting or important than their actual work, this can perhaps be argued with Plath. I won’t repeat stuff that will be a million times on the internet and in all the books here is a link to one of her best known poems Ariel

    My poem “Fitzroy Road” in the “Poetry Spiv” collection is about what I guess was a pilgrimage to the house in London where Plath died, which was made when I was down in London for one of the last MacWorld conferences at Olympia.

    Kev

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