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S U P P L E M E N T
hoarse surround
glisten as you swallow
your diver dive
sliding through the horror
fracture me
curled you asked
basking in watery
light
and you wept
I could hear the traffic
jangled and bold
flashs like broken bone
this pain that eats me
Devoured
and a kiss
tingle dance
you sigh
the black depth
pupil wide
across the great divide
you slip into
Lah lah Land
barefoot and naked
and the snows fall
like broken wishs
from a ravaged heaven
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north ontario
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Comments
weirdelf
Thu, 2012-03-01 03:51
This needs to be read aloud
it is fucking gorgeous language. Wesley Snow needs to read this. I'm going to send him the link.
The only line that bothers me is
Lah lah Land
it feels too childish in context, but perhaps that is your exact intent?
cheers,
Jess
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Esker
Thu, 2012-03-01 07:20
Glad You like this Poem
Crikey!! Nice lid Mate! Used to have an "Alpini" style hat years ago
felt too!
Lah Lah Land I thought didnt exist as it was refrenced much in my
childhood storybooks the parents read to us..
but then..
as an adultl using alcohol and pain killers
to search out or remove the present and the past
I found Lah Lah Land
not a storybook fiction anymore but a reality
that isnt reality
I visited a few men and women in hospital
that were pretty much shot by then with
disease of addiction
Honestly they looked better in the coffin
then alive in the hospital bed
I know that its a kid terminology
but thats where they were and where
I was at times in the not so distant past
interestlingly wretched place I tell you
Thank You
author commentCandlewitch
Thu, 2012-03-01 12:46
Dear Esker,
Oh how this resonates with me. Remindes me of a lover form my past. He was deep in the clutches of smack (heroin) and only responded to the dark embrace of his addiction. Great lines all, especially:
you sigh
the black depth
pupil wide
across the great divide
you slip into
Lah lah Land
always, Cat
*
When someone reads your work
And responds, please be courteous
And reply in kind, thanks.
wesley snow
Thu, 2012-03-01 13:22
There is so much stuff here these days,
that I'm not getting a chance to read everything. The Elf kindly sent me here, but I likely would have hit it on my own. As I told you a while back... your work has grown on me.
I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to be insulted in any way.
Did you promise? I'm not going on until you promise.
What was that? Okay, that'll do. A little qualified, but I'll take what I can get.
Here goes.
I believe you know what kind of poetry I write. Not counting the big poem which breaks a lot of rules, my poetry is precise at best, mediocre at worst. The Elf has even offered to help me try to produce something less rigid and more emotional. I look forward to it. He doesn't know yet that I'm gonna hit it up for it, but I don't think he'll turn me down. The bad press I could put out alone will mean he'll help me.
That's my perspective.
Now, yours.
I don't consider you a poet. In everything you write I see very little of what "I" consider poetry. You are a writer. Perhaps, as The Elf said to me in a PM, "the most talented natural poet (writer)" we know.
As I write the big poem, one of the many things I try to instill into it is pace. I want the reader to feel they should read it fast. It's an adventure story... so rip it up. Get blown away.
I have not yet read one of your "poems" that I did not read it fast, slow, halting, ripping... the language has ALWAYS carried me with it without my putting out energy. The piece itself drags me along. Even when I don't necessarily "get it". I have come to the end of several of your works huffing and puffing and wondering what the hell happened without understanding squat.
Tragically, I don't believe this is anything that can be taught. This is you.
So, I DO think you are one of the most talented "natural" writers I have ever read. If I can find the means by which to write a poem with a tenth of the intensity you put into your most casual works I will share it with you because I will be tickled as hell.
Your fan,
wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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wesley snow
Thu, 2012-03-01 13:30
Almost forgot.
I think "La la land" (this is the correct spelling... I'm the Grammar Cop, what can I say) works well.
I have always believed that a childlike (or childish) reference can be disturbing in the right atmosphere.
For example, my favorite commercial these days. The UPS guy and the little clown doll "that's gotta go."
wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
Learn how, teach others.
The NeoPoet Mentor Program
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Esker
Thu, 2012-03-01 14:12
Enrichingly etched
Thank You Cat addictions are strange animals
and we crawl fall and murmer sometimes in depths
in its grasp we twist or lie like stolen souls
on the bottom bathing in the distant light
author commentEsker
Thu, 2012-03-01 14:16
Wesley..
Yours is one of the more blessed comments on my poetry
The very fact that I am in a disturbing realm that no one
quite knows what to do with my works or how to slot them
like an elusive creature is fantastic!! One great comment!
I am also very happy to know that you find me also a talented
writer..there is a thin line between poetry and writing
like dusk a magical animal that is both full of the intensity of
light and the welcome embrace of darkness
I strive to be what I am and that is what I shall always be
out there in Lah Lah Land
I put "h's" on my spelling as I like the girth of the way it
is written..not for the correct form in anyway shape or
form... and like life I have many tickets for walking outside
the knowns of proper propriety
Thank You for the read Wes!
author commentNordic cloud
Fri, 2012-03-02 12:57
Crikey, blimey, grimey,
Crikey, blimey, grimey,
sloshed and squizzled all about
crashed and broken
sung and soaken
seduced and sent
drowned and bent
Ann.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.