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to give
| Open Poetry #19 |
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to give |
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Elizabeth Cor Senior Member
since 2000-10-13
Posts 879Over the river and through the woods 
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here. this is me as i carved an angel wing in the sand pile outside of the wood. The girl who stole rocks from the river bed sly as the fox that leapt it… and penned, in black ink, soft as the stone was round: ‘The Unborn Child’ here: this is what it meant and why. who i was as i sat in the church with you and we spoke in tones reserved for the soft insides of pews, for new love and divine awe of both… the same, and not as we met with sarah; nor the i of former ten months, when she was sitting on my floor and pushed my hair behind my ear, and if i met her eyes i knew: i'd kiss her; i'd break. this is me as i broke _myself_ open for a spell, told later as if a party trick: didn’t feel it. show where there isn’t even a scar, but the blood, my finger sliced halfway through… the glass bowl, the candles, the hard tile of the room and its memories: a vine of lavender; how the enchantment worked, and the magik in me… you would see it, smell it… here is who i was, in the back seat perpendicular the elementary school playground the black lycra shorts, snatched down, and the fingers roughed inside me. my submission. my disgust. my fight and defeat. my thoughts walking home, hands clutched at my elbows how the air & my eyes were cold and frantic. how it makes me think, how it all makes me think of why i need power. or don’t. if the requisite strength is substitute for a god dead… and i am waiting for his fatherly hand to strike me down or smother me. when vulgarity became persona, when sex became a rage that i never gnawed through to where you were essential and how i grew dense, fatty layers with your attention, expecting something to claw through the soft, bleed me to reap muscle and bone. here i am in my tree swing, age seven dreams, night terrors, and the music worn in and in to my brain the bird i saved. the dog i beat. the insects & the experiments i would create for them, for my own body… the obsession with mirrors, with skin. the tattoo designed and forgotten. the old house, the roof where pete exposed the whole of my heart and swallowed it, the room where he traced my knuckles and the folds in the legs of my jeans… all questions, before and past, beginning now… how i killed my god. how i gave birth to my goddess and the demise of my own spirituality. & here is how i’ve forgotten, but want to give. [This message has been edited by Elizabeth Cor (03-26-2002 07:19 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2002 Megs - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
... |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I've read this several times...and sat here for quite awhile trying to put in to words what this write evokes...to find words that do this justice...feeling at a loss and speechless like C before me... some people write for the love of writing...others write because they need to have a way to release and purge emotions that burn beneath the skin...some write to be able to breathe.... after reading this, I know that you know what I am trying to say here. Thank you for sharing this impressive honest, piece (of you) with me. take care jm Of all the things in me I could never be, |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
I must tell you how I see you, through the skin of you to bones and blood and then further to a place where there are no words, except that you have somehow found them. |
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Jamie Member Elite
since 2000-06-26
Posts 3168Blue Heaven |
Taking-losing- giving- growing- learning--- here is how live friglog (ask K)  JThere is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar. |
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Magicmystery Senior Member
since 2002-02-13
Posts 821Windsor, Ontario, Canada |
I have read this 5 times through now... and I still pick up things the more I read... I am so speachless.... you have done well to paint such a stark blunt picture of confusion, and agony.... these moments you share.... they are .... very personal and real and I have already said too much for someone who is otherwise speachless... my God!!! Thankyou for bearing your soul... Sherry Cherish the good memories past and look forward to the adventure called Tomorrow. |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
I think my butterfly sharer (Jm) is right...you need this, and I know how that needing is. Somehow, to write in this way moves beyond expression and becomes about survival. When 'speaking words' aren't enough to capture all those deep emotions and visions and ideas, poetic words can serve to snare them and release them - to an extent. Only to an extent. Our life shapes us, and no matter how much, my dear dear friend, we capture the moments on paper (or a screen) and attempt to release their influence, they never do leave us. I think that minimising of the self, that party-trick tendency to shove yourself aside, and place yourself as the butt of a joke, is also about survival. I know - I've done it many times. But it gets you through, it really does. It's just another scar to add to the pile isn't it... You're a beautiful scar Meggy..just beautiful. Hugs-till-it-hurts. Somehow I don't need to write in detail about your writing prowess - it feels secondary right now...  K~All my life I've been crazy |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
ElizabethCor~ Impressive release~ Delicately and tenderly written, delicately and tenderly read~ *Hugs* ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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vandana
since 1999-10-22
Posts 10463USA |
enjoy |
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Cpat Hair
since 2001-06-05
Posts 11793 |
It is deeper than the words... the places you go...have gone, and now visit still again your sharing the insights, the histories makes them no less personal and no less painful.. wonderful penning... and truly something I read, and read again, looking for the bottom of those depths... may the goddess in you prevail |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
i've come back just to say that this poem cut like no other you've written to date. it is stronger, more subtle, and by far more powerful on an emotional level than even shoving your brains through a typewriter. the ending was sparked not by a single line (which was damned good in its own right) but by the succession of lines following 'how i killed my god.' sharp girl, sharp C |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
What I have to say has been taken up by you in all that have come before. You are a poet. Period. Thank you. |
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Verve Member
since 1999-06-23
Posts 348Singapore |
Speechless. |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
quote: I like the visuality of this line. . . showing that there's the you between the words that we might miss if we don't pay attention to them. . . quote: when a goddess becomes who she has sought to be, does she then become what she is, or what she should be? or, does she just become? this is the central question here, I feel. . . a question that has yet to be answered. . . that cannot be answered here. . . but will be answered soon. . . when goddesses die. . . well done. . . a look into the inner heart, the soul of life. . .and the poet's own fears. . . which wait to be heard by the world. . . ---------------------------------------------------------------- To the world, you may only be one person. But to one person, you may be the world. |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Sven - what the hell are you talking about? I'm lost. |
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
ROTFLMAO |
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