Kindling

an examination of inner life, while chopping wood.

My shiny skin
My puppet’s teeth
My brittle life strikes apart
      Kindling
Like when I split firewood and don’t hold the axe right.
My center is so weak, my hatchet rebounds from the heart of woodblock
Thin strips of wood splinter off around the pulp 
Of a life I’ve been axing for a while.
I’m just a marionette chopping wood in a flannel shirt
That I don’t belong in.
Why did it take so many whacks 
to fillet the fiber of my life
to it’s palpitating heart?

Reviews

[Kenaz]

A wonderful metaphor. Great read, thank you

[MOON]

Love the flow and imagery of chopping wood great . Not getting to the heart of it sooner. Lovely write.

[victoria]

I think your use of wood here is a wonderful metaphor for life. When we try to shape ourselves into something or other we become self limiting, only good for firewood, though while this has some use we loose something of our self. Much enjoyed this thought provoking piece.

[Extant]

It seems to me (and it is just something I have noticed) that the 'puppet poem' is a rite(right?) of passage. I don't mean that at all in the conforming sense; I have read many incredibly original puppet poems (including some of the copy and pate style). I have written my own. I believe the whole point of it is to take the obvious idea and make it more personal.
In this I feel like you waver between the puppet, the puppeteer, and the raw wood that is used to make puppets. You would severe yourself to prove you have a heart.

[.]

~ i was there once... not any more... the question in the end is perfectly worded... the lines leading to it are intense too... i have still not figured out why i was "axing my life" but i was...