bare claim

bare claim  

 

 

 

the creaking timber

the mind shaft splinters

thoughts become black dust

 

poems buried alive

no one will risk descending

into their meanings

 

better to close up the adit

leave a few words on a sign

maybe the poems will be remembered

 

eulogized

as the mass grave

holds solemn passage

 

for the written,

the unwritten

the calamitous inspiration

 

that dared to enter.

 

 

erin-cilberto

2/20/23

Reviews

[William Michael Reeves]

After a few thoughts this poem created a vision of a poem cemetery. Phrases on each stone from that which is buried. And the grave robber, who happens to be the same as the gravedigger, is horrified to find themselves in the middle of the writing block trying to resurrect what should stay buried.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

spot on, William...
thank you,
j.

[W. Barrett Munn]

And where exactly was the canary in all this? Most likely flocking together somewhere.
I hope this shaft is reaopend. It's too valuable to close.

Winston

[jacob erin-cilberto]

much too...thank you, Winston,
j.

[Chris Shaw]

Love that first stanza J. Describes my own brain:) Yes, what will become of our poems when we are no longer here? I certainly don’t see yours in a mass grave J. With all your published work and the hundreds of students you have taught, yet alone the readers you have inspired, you can be sure that yours stay above ground. They will breathe and be outside in the fresh air. I am even hopeful that mine will pass down the family line and be read by future generations.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

nothing like fresh air...thank you for the kind words, Chris,
j.

[andrew mitchell]

What are poems once read but a mass grave, rarely viewed. It's funny how poems are written in the moment hence can become outdated. It's like a lucky dip.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we can only hope they might have some meaning years from now....but we can't be sure, can we?

[Lorry]

This speaks to me Jacob of days I found writing easier and my internal thesaurus came unstuck and I could recall words far more easily than I can now. Where sense somehow managed to put in an appearance on at least a regular basis and the art of writing more than four lines didn't feel like a marathon and do it's best to give me wrinkle lines and question mark eyebrows.
Myy marking will just simply be "Here lies things, unfinished."

[jacob erin-cilberto]

we are all a work in progress while we live, and we will die unfinished.
thank you, Lorry,read morewe are all a work in progress while we live, and we will die unfinished.
thank you, Lorry,
j.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

We must all take our risks mining for gold or gems in the deep recesses of our hearts and minds. I've never known those to collapse that were decently shored though. I'm more of a panner myself but I still tend to find a decent nugget now and again. I enjoyed the read.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I am claustrophobic...so panning would be my style as well.
no cave-ins that way.
thank you, Fabian,
j.

[Sami Khalil]

Wow! A poem comparing poetry to gold, coal mining. Going deep into the shafts, blowing up some sections, digging deep, taking risks to bring important products to the surface. Black lungs can be a back effect, cancerous and tough on breathing.
Your poetry is a gold mine, sir.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review, Sami,
j.

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome sir Jacob

[willweb]

It does make you wonder (wonder, a word I seem to use often in reviewing your work) what will happen to these poems. Will someone collect them, print them, cut out each word and place them all in a jar, shake it up and dump it out for poets of the future to use? Hmmm.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

if they put them in a jar, I hope they put holes in the lid so the poems can breathe.
Thank you, will,
j.