Poetry Forum

You’d smoke anything,
pasty breath.

Bleed petrol just to get a conversation going;
you’ve had to do this frequently since you left home.

Your mouth would work better
if it could reach the air outside.

Unforgiving;
For months they burn your hands.

Pipe down when your stomach growls,
and sit there through the night with knuckles in teeth.

It’s hard work writing letters all day, bored in silence.
Your fingers get tough and rubbery.

I don't quite understand the context for this poem, but i liked it. Especailly how it changes at the end
[quote]It’s hard work writing letters all day, bored in silence.
Your fingers get tough and rubbery.[/quote]

great read... thanx

thoke wrote:You’d smoke anything,
pasty breath.

Bleed petrol just to get a conversation going;
you’ve had to do this frequently since you left home.

Your mouth would work better
if it could reach the air outside.

Unforgiving;
For months they burn your hands.

Pipe down when your stomach growls,
and sit there through the night with knuckles in teeth.

It’s hard work writing letters all day, bored in silence.
Your fingers get tough and rubbery.

Hi Thoke,
Is it about writing? Trying to write better and to find suitable conditions for writing... I have read it a couple of times but still not sure of the central meaning.
P.S: I couldn't match the title, either.

Anyway, it is a nice peace.
Cheers,
SEDA.

adour wrote:I have read it a couple of times but still not sure of the central meaning.

It wasn't intended to have one. But, to me, it sounds like it could be about a prisoner.

I couldn't match the title, either.

It's the twelfth poem I've posted on here.

Nice one. I got the prisoner thing, but not until the final verse, and then it didn't particularly inform or illuminate the preceding verses.

And I thought it was "Twelve" because there are twelve lines.

Hi again,

I could just get it after you told it. But David could get it so...

I was thinking that it could be the twelfth poem but couldn't be sure as i was not able to match such a poem with a plain title.

Anyway, now I can enjoy it much more.

On my first read of this, I was unsure whether I liked it or not. But after reading trough it a few times, I have found that I do like it very much. There is a very good use of imagery, but the meaning is lost.

I think the title 'Twelve' could be linked to the fact that everything that the prisoner does is institutionalised, and therefore he would know every detail of everything in the place, as he just want's something to do. I think it fits the poem quite well, although it is very ambiguous.

I like that there is not a blatant meaning. Writing can be beautiful when it is abstract.

Twelfth poem, eh?
You could always write your next poem about Superstition...