even this one can't be used again

even this one can't be used again

 

 

i am recycling

my life

 

to mint new poems

but they are stale

and raw

putrid with the stench

of overused metaphor

 

maybe recycling is a bad idea

since the first life

isn't worth the words

that made it breathe.

Reviews

[berenongur]

wow I understand very well, because you explained it very well. sometimes I know that a sentence I wrote could be better, and I get obsessed with it but then I know that it ruins me and I say FORGET IT, NOT EVERYTHING CAN BE PERFECT and finish the writing. then when the perfect idea comes to my mind that I can change it, this is exactly how I feel, the funny thing about it; is that no one else notices or even thinks about it.

as for your writings, I am not at the level to review on your writings, you write so well that I just want to pour out my feelings instead of making an evaluation. your poems leave such an impression.

[Linda alexander]

This poem hides little ambiguity in itself. One the river passed certain point it can not flow back. We can not live life backwards to make it better. So it is lived and for some reasons it was not having the quality as one dreamt. Wow to this poem. It nailed the theme at its head. You are very clever professor Jacob. No one wonder I put you and Sami Khalil as my mentors in my first book even if you both poets did not know it. It does not mean others did not help but I felt you both poets inspired me and are my mentors.

[John the Baptist]

It may be a tendency among dedicated poets to regard their past efforts with disdain. It's as though we all want to be John Donne and look down on our efforts that don't come up to that standard. I wonder if Rev. Donne had the same problem because he wasn't Shakespeare.

[Amanda Reynolds]

yes it it worth it and this (your writing) is proof! (also so clever;)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

The words must come from the heart to share the feelings that birthed them. We can't force our words any more than we can force our hearts to believe in something we don't feel or haven't at least felt in the past. I suppose we can become victims to a sort of emotional neuropathy and start to feel sort of numb inside. It's then that the words struggle to find meaning. And without meaning we might as well be writing grocery lists or reciting anecdotes from old Reader's Digest magazines. But there's always something new to learn and write about and there are always new experiences to be lived. Maybe the living is the key and in the living our words find life. Maybe. I enjoyed the read, my friend. F.

[Titilayo Sarah Eguridu]

Dear Jacob,
I have read a couple of your works and I must confess…they are zillion miles away from putrid.
Your words are ever blooming!
A second read would paint a fresh picture on the canvas of the mind.
We all get stuck….just as I have been for almost three weeks, but we learn to outmaneuver the block and swim against the tide.
When you write, you share a piece of your self, teach others and inspire them to fly.
You are pregnant with several volumes of creative works the world awaits.
We all live, but no two people have experienced life in the very same way.
Truth is, the cafe wouldn’t be the same without you
Rest if you must!
Visit your muse….if you have any!
Then return like a soldier…with the prize.
No pressure, just assurance…that your words are beautiful works of art.

[MCS]

I would never us the word putrid to describe your work.
My dear friend the long and short is the following; poetry - the best words in the best order.

[Dylan Macadham]

I'm the 101st and 12th! Turn that frown upside down Jacob, Wow! this one's on Fire!!! :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Thank you, Dylan.
j.

[Stella Armour]

Our writing changes as the years go by and i think it is worth going over old ground , for it is that which taught us to think and write in the beginning.
Updating is usually also upgrading.. ( Well hopefully :))

Stella

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, hopefully. Thank you, Stella.
j.

[Light and ashes]

I can't imagine one of your poems being putrid or stale.

But, I think I understand.

Maybe, they are, simply because we are still here,
which means, at some point, we must have persisted.

That's poetry itself
Is it not?

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Yes, that is poetry...
thanks, Light...you words are always a lift for this old poet.
j.