On Tuesday my foot shattered.
Broken. Knocked into metal.
The scream imploded on
the grey yellow polka dot bus.
A moment of distraction
expands to body, being, mind.
A slowing, a grinding halt
to all that was once taken for granted.
My brain swells with confusion
Now, I'm lost, fallen, crumpled
in a corner. Forgotten, stomped
Limping growing smaller.
Soon I wll morph into a fetus
in the position, of a sea horse
Curled into myself, into belly
Into nothing into infinity.
I cry, in trying to comfort
self all I can do is find pity
and use it as a weapon
to cut a bit further into the wounded me.
Marionette, I'm not dead yet,
but likened to a bird that flew
I'm limping, hobbling, raw and bitching
I'm hot and I'm hungry and my exit is overdue.
Karma keeps coming at me like a freight train
Karma keeps coming at me like a freight train
Hello Burma, Hello China - we're being boomeranged
There's no escaping the flood, blood, crush and quake.
Karma keeps a coming.
Karma keeps a coming.
Karma keeps a coming.
My Foot's Karma (Taking it Like a Refugee)
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Bombadil
- Perspicacious Poster
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sherri,
Are you channeling Bob Marley, here? If you are then, you might consider truncating or randomizing your line lengths to lend a syncopated feel to the piece. If not, chuck that kernel.
I got hung up on:
I cry, in trying to comfort
self all I can do is find pity
and use it as a weapon
to cut a bit further into the wounded me
I think this could be more succintly (and hence powerfully) expressed. Perhaps all you can do is use pity as a weapon, who knows?
I really dug the "Marionette, I'm not dead yet," fucking brilliant.
Cheers,
A.S.
Are you channeling Bob Marley, here? If you are then, you might consider truncating or randomizing your line lengths to lend a syncopated feel to the piece. If not, chuck that kernel.
I got hung up on:
I cry, in trying to comfort
self all I can do is find pity
and use it as a weapon
to cut a bit further into the wounded me
I think this could be more succintly (and hence powerfully) expressed. Perhaps all you can do is use pity as a weapon, who knows?
I really dug the "Marionette, I'm not dead yet," fucking brilliant.
Cheers,
A.S.
I only ever had but one prayer to God, that was: "O, Lord, make my enemies ridiculous." And he granted it.--Voltaire
I would think you were channelling Mott the Hoople - http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=aCjTKICZLAk - but that would just be silly. (Great song though.)
This (your poem) is very dramatic, isn't it? It struck me as being slightly over-heated. Quite powerful, though.
Cheers
David
This (your poem) is very dramatic, isn't it? It struck me as being slightly over-heated. Quite powerful, though.
Cheers
David
Jsherri,
Sorry, but this fails for me. It's a rambling and emotional confessional that doesn't really explain why the 'I' is so sad (well, the foot is broken isn't it? But if that's the case, why are we meant to believe it has caused this much pain? All you've told us is:
A moment of distraction
expands to body, being, mind.
A slowing, a grinding halt
to all that was once taken for granted.
which just seem total histrionics I'm afraid), nor gives us anything to really hold on to bar the unstable noise of the mental space in the poem.
My problem is that this doesn't have any sympathy for the reader. Not because it is too elusive or difficult, but simply because it doesn't seem to care about anything but itself. The difficulty with portraying mental catastrophy is that one has to try to get the reader into the experience, and this is (rather predictably) often accomplished with object correlatives or narrative. I'm often impressed with your writing, but this doesn't work for me. Sorry. I'm not getting much more than a diary entry with this.
Dave
Sorry, but this fails for me. It's a rambling and emotional confessional that doesn't really explain why the 'I' is so sad (well, the foot is broken isn't it? But if that's the case, why are we meant to believe it has caused this much pain? All you've told us is:
A moment of distraction
expands to body, being, mind.
A slowing, a grinding halt
to all that was once taken for granted.
which just seem total histrionics I'm afraid), nor gives us anything to really hold on to bar the unstable noise of the mental space in the poem.
My problem is that this doesn't have any sympathy for the reader. Not because it is too elusive or difficult, but simply because it doesn't seem to care about anything but itself. The difficulty with portraying mental catastrophy is that one has to try to get the reader into the experience, and this is (rather predictably) often accomplished with object correlatives or narrative. I'm often impressed with your writing, but this doesn't work for me. Sorry. I'm not getting much more than a diary entry with this.
Dave
Thank you for the comments. Well-taken - but it was pain I was channeling and a little afterglow, residual from Maya Angelou.
I am not happy about it. It could be brilliant maybe I will dissect and shove words around till they fit.
Right now I'm feeling disjointed.
I am not happy about it. It could be brilliant maybe I will dissect and shove words around till they fit.
Right now I'm feeling disjointed.
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stuartryder
- Preponderant Poster
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An interesting angle would be the symbol of the broken foot as writer's block. It might have been done already tho.
Stu
Stu