Jacks damp rucksack blues

the gene genie

                  tired, old

 thousand  year tiredness

                     rain washes away

            the half promise of

   half eaten bread

wearier than Basho

after 15 year walking

,

to lay my head

               on virgin soft

     thighs of      pillows

        and    inhale

  sweet jasmine sleep

more chance a a a a a a a 

     knife in the ribs

                  (in the ribs)

               or another retort

               Bordeaux's rain slicked streets

offer too much rain

     ;  next week

        once more into the 

                       sun

some place else as good

      as

    anyplace  

                          ever

              different scene

              same                  old,

    tired                 old    

me                                                 .

Reviews

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Once more there is the fragmentation in this poem perhaps symbolic of one who is weary and starting to acquiesce to the inevitability of never reaching fulfillment. There is a sense of having tried and tried and tried again! P.S. Did I detect a little smattering of Shakespeare hidden in these depth?

[gram linski]

I wouldn't have thought so dude, out damn spot out, lol

[Robert Trakofler]

my creaking body is having a hard time keeping up with me these days my friend! but I was born with a defective brain and am now just getting the hang of using it... the irony of which doesn't escape this bunny! The harsh reality for all that just when we get our minds right the body fails:) but I will be damned if i don't turn this one in, before beating the living crap out of it to the point that the body dealership will charge me to take it off my hands:)

[gram linski]

hahahahaha, just laughed my tits off reading that, cheers for the smiles, B,

[Gee]

A very good mate of mine toodled off to Spain in the early 80's to " work" and have fun. He ended up drug addled and living out of bins. On his return to blighty he looked like a victim of the German onslaught against the Jews.
Can't say I fully understood this Gram, but in my defence I ain't the brightest of buttons :)

[gram linski]

Imagine your mate was me, and imagine my mates were you, discuss, lol

[Gee]

Twins by anuvver muvver :)

[Eilis]

I read somewhere that ancestral traumas become part of our genetic structure and so (for some of us) no matter what we do, we never can get to the root of the thing. How do you counter the fact of your birth and then turn it around into something less like the long walk or rainy streets that always seem dreary and slippery no matter what.

I don’t have any answers. Excepting maybe the middle finger of creativity which at least offers enough power to figure things out in expression. The invisible hand works both ways. It can act on us and also we can act in concert with it and create things that ameliorate intensity temporarily. Or at least help in the defining.

I felt this one, Gram. In my own way. Taking the words here and applying them to my own understanding which is, after all, part of what makes poetry magical. Sometimes you read something and think it missed your head and went to someone else’s. At least I do.

I don’t know. I like the DNA of this poem. Poetry/form wise it’s very strong. Message wise, it’s tough, but my mind map knows the roads of it.

[gram linski]

love your reviews, Eilis, 10/10 for over thinking, I was living on the streets in France for a while and I was tired and it had been pissing down for a while, wet and hungry I headed towards the sun, subliminally I was thinking exactly what you just said, lol

[Eilis]

Sounds brutal, Gram.

My poetry magic (power) is overthinking, so if it gets me high marks, I suppose I should be proud!

[gram linski]

some of my happiest times, you always give these great deep insightful reviews and I feel like I have let down my favourite English teacher; sorry Miss, didn't think about content meaning just sound/ just wrote s**t down

[Eilis]

No let down for me, ha ha. What I see is there, whether it was conscious or not. Well, not always, ha, some of my reviews are just sleep-deprived mad rambles. But. Most of what’s in my poems isn’t conscious either. I just write it out and discover what it means later. I think it’s just part of the process.

[gram linski]

ever written a poem late at night, (possibly under an influence or two) and woke up in the destitute destroyed morn thinking who the f**k wrote that,

[Eilis]

Yep, been there. Minus the influence, ha ha. The three am brain fog being a pretty strong wonky influence on me itself.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

the last part i relate to today...there is a disconnect....i felt that earlier today and somewhat last night....fragmented thoughts and movement...age announces its camaraderie with our bodies...
it lets us know the streets of existence are becoming slicker.
j.

[gram linski]

great review j. slick slidin' away, :)

[barleygirl]

Your poem reminds me of how, when young, I energetically made distinctions & clarifications & pronouncements, etc . . . but as I grow old, everything seems so damn muddled, all distinctions are senseless. I happen to think my tired old outlook is an improvement upon my earlier hyper-vigilence (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

very true, Margie, very true, just that wee bit slower, lol,