Sacrifice

I don`t understand what I have written

Snake earthed and feathered

my chest full of curved fish bones

                      and a departing heart.

Let me be cut open with a stone

or lose my skin against a rock 

hang me under a storm

                     before widows.

I have been turned inside out

like a bedsheet; an empty bottle full

of stains, not able to

                    be spooned out.

I cannot give more than I have.

A matchstick man broken.

I cannot be killed more

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

Perhaps you did not know what you wrote, perhaps you did. This one speaks to me of loss and sorrow, and deep deep pain. It is brilliantly put together and a very powerful write. So glad I picked it out of the mix.

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

This one caught my eye, Leslie. I really like it. Both for the content and your claim, "
I don`t understand what I have written." I don't either but I am compelled to apply a stream-of-consciousness review toward that end. If we rehearse in reverse then killing more requires additional living - a resurrection of the broken man of cindered stick that can give more but does not see - when the spoon bends then the mind is free. These stains of which you talk about become the art of outside-in when viewed in mirrored time and then... the windowed storm, framed and hung upon the wall is too an art; from heart it's sung. Stars, moon and sun whirl as Mayan rites seen unfurl - analogous razor flint, we dance on the edge of life and bleed - snaking blood over those fish hook bones drips on stones and shakes to earth in an attempt at perpetual finality.

100 purple sticky notes

[Leslie Philibert]

Thanks for your review, in itself astute and a fine piece of prose.

[Christoph]

I don't know if you've made me want a bottle of bourbon or to give it up entirely.

[Leslie Philibert]

Thanks for the review, not a cheery poem I know, but I don`t always write like this !

[Ed Hart]

" I don`t understand what I have written " yes, it is like that, isn't it...that place inside that peeks out as poetry and speaks with a different truth than we carry on our face...and yet, i think it is the best part of us, and what it doesn't share with the world is the inner whisper that comforts and uplifts...we all get raked over the coals and sing some kind of blues, but between this and grace is seems all our growing takes place...Leslie, you are a poet's poet

[Leslie Philibert]

Thanks for the kind words, a poem I wrote almost thoughtlessly in a moment of despair, but I am
read moreThanks for the kind words, a poem I wrote almost thoughtlessly in a moment of despair, but I am
not always like this!..

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Leslie this is probably the most emotional poem I have ever read from you. It is full of hurt, angst and regret together with a helping of hurt. The title is interesting as it seems to suggest, when taken with the body o the piece, you opening yourself up and giving yourself to another only to be betrayed. Very poignant. As always a flowing prose poem of eloquence.

[Leslie Philibert]

Thanks for the kind words, a poem I wrote when I was really down, but as you know, we poets are often strange, unstable creatures..
often

[John Alexander McFadyen]

True dear Leslie and perhaps it is our sensitivity, friability and frailty that forms our words for us?