An Empty Bowl of Nothing Soup

It is curious and downright remarkable

How lust turns to awkward recollections

Of mornings wasted in anticipation

Of the coming night of temporary passion.

Do these flames flicker still

When our eyes set to collide on busy streets

Smothered by friends and repressed memories?

 

Where does infinity go?

Does the moment die? Does it morph into things?

Does it flow like a viscuous blob

And fall into a cerebral abyss?

We keep the memory in sacred boxes

But the moment is yet to be reclaimed.

 

What lucid thoughts come into mind

In cavernous crevices of my daily routine.

Even the empty bowls of mushroom soup

That stand and listen in the kitchen sink

Remind me of forgotten, sticky residues

Of our consumptions and shared intentions.

 

Clumps of dried soup around the brim

Remain a nuissance to my neurotic head

A tight grip on my solitary sponge

Is what I bring besides the acerbity

While I prepare to wash dirty plates

During my 10 o'clock shift.

 

Perhaps a bullet through my skull,

Or another regrettable foible

Will suffice to reanimate my sense of consistency.

Your eyes are chained to my ankles

Like heavy balls of iron that spawn malignantly

From the empires we made from nothing but nothing.

 

Author's Note

important note: this was written by a hopeless 18 year old, Filipino boy taking up Journalism who loves reading comics, watching TV, playing video games, is into debate and surprisingly has not had any girlfriend before. go figure.

and no, i'm not gay.

Reviews

[Collect-Eye]

there's a lot of really interesting phrasing in here.."reaninimate my sense of consistency", etc.

I've been pondering this topic alot..not just in the context of teenagers, but romantic love in general..

I'm a bit more like you..didn't date til I was 28..am into wordplay that borders on the absurd...etc.

we do waste a lot of time on passion and infatuation, when we should be focusing on the love that's everywhere..

"That a marriage ends is less than ideal; but all things end under heaven, and if temporality is held to be invalidating, then nothing real succeeds. "
John Updike

[Sir Joe]

a great example of a work which made use of defamiliarization (a writing technique),,,,,it's almost unbelievable that a journalist wrote this (=
,,,,,it's not everyday that your eyes lay upon a creatively well-crafted literary piece made by a journalist,,,,it's a great leap from journalistic to literary/creative writing
(=

[An owl on the moon]

Absolutly brilliant, modern, vivid voice that powerfully conveys thoughts and feelings in all their complexity. I see great things ahead for you!

[Blackbirdsong]

Not sure why you make a reference to not being gay in your author's note since there is nothing in your writing that would suggest that. I like this poem and the way you use old soup and the washing away of its residue as an analogy for moving on from past memories. Wiping the slate clean perhaps. Either way well done work as always.

[ANNA]

Your phrasing just blow me away!! Your mind and how you come up with such beautiful emotions. Well very well!

Thanks for sharing! You will go very far with your gift
Much love nrespect,
Anna

[TL Boehm]

Does it flow like a viscuous blob

And fall into a cerebral abyss?

We keep the memory in sacred boxes

But the moment is yet to be reclaimed.

wow. When I was 18, I hadn't fallen in love yet either. I was a craver of words and the idea of love...but I didn't ever fall into mad, passionate stupid love. I still haven't. Although I am now married with kids and a mortgage....and I am content to be that way. It was a subtle gradual thing. Writing is still my "Thing" my passion.
This piece is strong. Vivid. DEEP.

[Phibby Venable]

What lucid thoughts come into mind

In cavernous crevices of my daily routine.

Even the empty bowls of mushroom soup

That stand and listen in the kitchen sink These are wonderful lines.

Your writing is remarkable..i find it very visual and it has passion!

[Spoken]

true love has a bottomless bowl to spoon from :)

be thankful you haven't found anything that is only a temporary nourishment. Everyone who's had an EX in their life (and are not married) are back at square one with you, they are at no "higher level" or greater understanding in love than you b/c they haven't found it yet either.

I like the comparison of spoiled love rememered to sticky residues on dirty dishes. Very unique and true.

[Starting Over]

That was awesome!!!! I loved it... he did a great job!

[R J Askew]

Well, putting the hood of poetry anorak up, I notice 7 lines in the first verse and then you get into a 6 line pattern, but only 5 verses. Ignore me.

I noticed a couple of other things. You show a great range in your word choice, great feel for words. I like that. You feel comfortable with words. Also there are some great ideas. The first line sounds like Jane Austen...there is a cadence about the lines thereafter also...like listening to a piano being played. I like the colliding eyes and the return to eyes in the last verse. Where does infinity go? is a nice touch...could ponder that one for a while. Jane Austen wld never come up with that line. Like 'cavernous crevices' which can also be pondered...can a crevice be cavernous?...and, if yes, then what manner of surreal inversion are we into? but why not? I like the idea of there being more to a crevice than something narrow and tight... I can see a soup bowl in a sink...in fact I made a major fish soup on saturday...soup kitchens are a la mode in the Great Recession also...esp in Spain. I like ... 'heavy balls of iron that spawn malignantly' just cos I do...again there are several ways the line can be read and spins that can be put on it. So your poem is a most nourishing soup with all kinds of good things in it.

[SM Davis]

The processes here are interesting. I see beyond the words here...and it's obvious to me that there is much more meaning between the lines. That which explains the unexplainable. I do not see a suicidal teen, more a frustrated individual who is trying to process that which goes on inside his own head. I think that all people, regardless of age think many of these thoughts.

The "writer's" processes here are consistent and they speak loudly. A very well written piece. Writing hits when it hits...it speaks what it means to speak...and there is little the hands that do the writing can do about it. That seems to be the case here. Your art will perfect itself with little or no choice on your part. It comes when and how it chooses to come.