a life of many edits

a life of many edits

 

 

 

baby talk spilled out of the crib

clicking sounds

gnashing of teeth

forming infant words inaudible

but poetry starts with a few cries

rolls over on its stomach

pauses

burps all over open mic.

 

rides bicycles and plays in the mud

like any kid would

then finds itself mired in books

those college days

scribbling itself in notebooks

painting the poet's sky

with graffiti 

that means more than all the college education

that has to be regurgitated

like a meal that didn't sit right in the pit

of introspection

 

then grew old

and gray

and softer in mettle

in the middle of last gasps

the keys still make noises

forming infant words inaudible

once again

 

until poetry ends with one last click

and life signs out.

 

 

erin-cilberto

11/1/23

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

An interesting look at the life of poetry here. It starts out like baby talk and finally ends the same way. In the interim, it experiences the playful exuberance of the child. It is when poetry is studied in formal education that it really takes off, painting the sky with graffiti. In old age it reverts to baby talk. In the true poet, it lingers until the end.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, all the way to the end...even as the poet dies, his or her poetry might hopefully live on.
read moreYes, all the way to the end...even as the poet dies, his or her poetry might hopefully live on.
Thank you, John.
j.

[duff]

Being born come alive. Steady for the adventure. Soul churning writing.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I like that, thanks, duff.
j.

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

A beautiful write here Jacob love the metaphors
And the bad times in our life we erase or try to from our memories but the pencil still drew it

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, the pencil did.
thanks, Julie,
j.

[Dave]

John - you present an interesting tale of the life of a poet. You're right, surely it starts in the cradle and is nurtured by our degrees of education or lack thereof. Finding and securing our muse until it finally tires with the hope that all we have penned remains and is appreciated.
Great thoughts her - John.
Take care - Dave

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you for your kind review, Dave.
jacob

[Dave]

Jacob,it's always good to hear and read you.
Take care - Dave

[Lorry]

I had a thought while reading this Jacob, of a baby in sunglasses (because those spotlights can be harsh on the eyes) of a baby rocking up to the mic and as far as I could make out, it's poem was called "WAHHHHHH!" and it brought the house down, with its raw energy and boldness that explained all that was wrong with life and the world in general.
I can picture it as a spoken word piece and almost hear it wailing every time it is asked about its multi layered deeper meaning. 😊
It wailed the loudest when it was overlooked for the Nobel prize in literature and never quite got over its being overlooked and never quite reached the heights of its earlier work.
Just like me really, because I've wailed with the best of them and people act like they don't understand! 😊

[jacob erin-cilberto]

nothing like raw energy and boldness....too bad about the Nobel prize, though.
Sometimes I feel that only poets truly understand other poets.
j.

[Ted Kniffen]

This one sparkles with the story of the life of a poet and his poems. From beginning to the end ... hopefully a long way off ... some of us have no choice but to birth these little bits of introspection and send them on their way, to be devoured one and all.

Good one j.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, we birth them and hope they survive.
thank you, Ted,
j.

[Sami Khalil]

Many edits, many stages of life, many ups and downs, many trials and errors, many takers and deserters, mountains and valleys; yours is worthy regardless.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Kind of you to say, Sami...I have hopes some of it is.
j.

[Sami Khalil]

Yes siiiirrrrr. You are welcome sir Jacob

[emmajoygreen]

You create miracles with your writing, jacob, turn all if not most action into poetry by finding the subject's very essence. Here is a sadness of words, going through a long, long chain of words as you might an annual report of a Man's life. and how it might be described in all its darkness and glories.

If a book could read, it would be sobbing now

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, em. Especially for your metaphor in the last line...yes, thank you.

[Chris Shaw]

There is sadness in this poem. I thought of my aunt, what she is reduced to now. She was never a poet, but I know many and ponder on the pain of one day not being able to string words together on a blank page. You have created the life of poetry here, from birth to death. The ending brought a lump to my throat. Touching words dear J.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Chris...I appreciate you could relate to what I wrote but am saddened for the reason.
read moreThank you, Chris...I appreciate you could relate to what I wrote but am saddened for the reason.
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

Little pebbles in a stream move along like a Dream...
where Roses grow along the mountain side
and laughter becomes the poetry of the
Trees with branches waiting for Spring
where nests appear with little eggs...
The cycle of Life. softly, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your most poetic reply, Pat,
j.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Poetry will never die because poets will always exist. this poem does tell how poetry has no limits to the imagination.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you very much for your kind words, Dale,
j.