spare me the truth

tremors

And how I wonder
Did I get to this place?
Memories flicker
Like the shadows on your face
That night
Turning into dawn
Fireside
The night that I was torn

In two, deep.
Your bedroom
So hot
Then as now
Your words speak
Of shattering glass
Fragments that cut me
Then now I still wear the scars

What you said to me
I hoped it was fantasy
Though even then I knew
That It couldn't be less than all of you

When I trace the edges of these shards
Blood just trickles from my fingertips
Always collecting at the same place
Like conclusion
There's no confusion here
I clearly see the tracks
Of my fragile mind
Start that night
If I had known then
Where they would lead
What should I have done
Differently?

Maybe I'd have loved you less
Maybe I'd have held my breath
Held it till the pain passed away


Someone out there
Somewhere for me
Will have the answers
The ones I can't see

Questions ask them
Selves uninviting
Show me resolution
I'm tired of fighting

For something that
Dream I've forgotten
I can't even picture
It's sunk to the bottom

Same old traps
around every corner
Freshly dug pits
Don't seem any smaller

Someone somewhere
Show me the way through
I can no longer believe
There might be a breakthrough

argonaut

maybe you've seen something like this before


Worlds in his heart can’t be ignored
Could be had for a song,
He won’t be selling.
All that he’s learned despite bridges burned
It comes for free with a home made cd.

It comes in pieces
And all at once
Dry gnawed gristle
And raging torrents.

Then silence. Ebbing.
Lost pride upon the table.
Ready to eat,
Or aren’t you hungry
now, prey willing?

Will you press for more?
And risk losing the story, this opportunity
Becoming his savior, ransacking hell
Hoping your good intentions
will bail you out
When monster turns on master.


We’re all just chasing our tails again.



something about a little red wheelbarrow and poets waiting till they're damn well ready-- someone I wanted to quote but was too lazy to get the words just right

Felicity

this is one festering sore of a poem.

there is no pleasing or hopeful notion to be found.

wallowing in the filth and degradation or humiliation is more real to some than the anal,pretty or smoothed-over life we try to present to the world.

touch it
acknowledge it
but know what's real
everything in moderation
to keep sane

FinsburyParkCarrots

Originally posted by Felicity
this is one festering sore of a poem.

there is no pleasing or hopeful notion to be found.

And even in the Osiris myth, lilacs spring up from the dead land.

argonaut

THis one's a little young for showing but here goes



I walked my garden and found
Good plants gone to seed
Lots of tall spikey weeds, yet
Blooms of poppy, lilly and iris
Bursting past the vines.

It grows wild and lovely from a distance
It hums with bees up close.
I can’t regret how I’ve let it go
The flowers don’t seem to mind.

The rain fell soft on my garden
It fell soft on me and I wish it
Could wash and fill me
So I could never mind the sting
Of your neglectful tending.

and yes, April is still the cruelest month.

FinsburyParkCarrots

Thanks. (Notes the Eliot ref, of course! ) I like your poems, tremors and argonaut.

tremors

Thanks FinsburyPark - a most erudite contributor!

Thanks argonaut - yes I recognise your lines, they go down well, like your tofu!