Spilled Ink

To sit on the veranda and wade through 

the dying light at day’s end: to write

as if life was nothing more than a carcass 

waiting to be skinned, pegged out, and left 

to dry overnight. I have heard this 

is how it is done, though I have 

my doubts, cannot conceive of lines 

being jigged, cast into the roiling seethe 

of a heart’s yearning, that does not require 

wrestling the succubus to the draw of dawn. 

Time has no time, no season

free from accounting. Every debt, 

each ache however unintentional,

needs to be settled. Love or 

Hate, in war or under flag 

of entente, are simply symptoms 

of our intent, a will to cleave 

through the tempestuous swash.

 

So, while I am mindful, tailoring words

to the forecast, the hint of tears, 

always a probability -- the poet’s 

warning to inevitability of eyes 

awaking to an alternate interpretation --

that the ink I chose to spill 

may well be indelible once 

I’ve blotted the pages … 

I know of no other way other than 

to wade through the dying light to day’s end.

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Spilled Ink: a fine title for this writer's skill in making more of what is all ready blazing more.
Yet, 'So, while I am mindful, tailoring words to the forecast, the hint of tears, always a probability.. '

Perhaps writing is an unknown until it touches its eventual resting place.. then - is raised before the eyes of the seeker of meaningful words he or she might have written but never has nor will. Perhaps the outcome varies as to which of the two has the forgiving foresight to allow liberties before fading out of sight? I may be very wrong, perhaps need a little nudge towards clarity in your own good time. Come what may, this is a mystery only you can explain!

[Ken e Bujold]

thank you em. Your interpretation is fine. This one was written over days and truth be told as I revised it opened itself to a multitude of meanings. And I was mindful of letting there be room for each. Let the reader take what they will from it. All I would add is that for myself it reads as a reminder to live life, that regrets are part of life, as are aches and complaints, and that no matter how much we might think otherwise, there is only one way to move through it, forwards.

[emmajoygreen]

''..regrets are part of life, as are aches and complaints, and that no matter how much we might think otherwise, there is only one way to move through it, forwards. ' Am learning that, very, very slowly! Thank you.

[W. Barrett Munn]

I have always thought the reason for writing is to produce the indelible, or as Mary Oliver said, to sit down each day with the purpose of writing something memorable. You do that often, Ken.

Winston

[Ken e Bujold]

Thanks. Yes our reason for writing is to produce something memorable. To lay down markers as it were.

[Stuart Munro]

Your poems are amazing , so absorbing and enjoyable , Ken

[Ken e Bujold]

Thanks for the grand review Stu.

[Stuart Munro]

Thanks Ken , it’s a pleasure

[Gill Fitzpatrick]

" a will to cleave through the tempestuous swash" I love this line, it gives me a real sense of being

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks for visit and review Gill.