Elusive Thread

         Pulling on the elusive thread

             of a long subdued memory.....

             Watching it slowly unravel

         my tightly woven sanity.

 

         Ugly hole in skin

                taut pullover.

                Ensuing break out, escape.

         Screams from a marred humanity.

 

          Ruined is my purled composure,

               meant to fabricate a synthetic vanity.

              This run-away spectral convict

                         will convict me.

           I run the risk of untimely exposure.

 

           Am I stong enough to confront

                  this released phantom

                  from memory's crevasses?

            Will he subdue me with his icy

                  yet burning kisses?

 

          Or shall he capture me with his cold,

                no longer manacled hands of blame,

            then shackle me with heavy chains 

                of profound, subterranean shame.

 

              Shall he bind me,

                  confine me?

              Ultimately define me?         

 

Reviews

[Lawrence Parlier]

I personally see no problem with asking questions in a poem. If poets didn't question reality there would be damn few great poems.
Also, when the muse strikes you just have to go with it. In these instances I don't think about forms or poetic conventions or reviews. I just slap down what I'm feeling or think or am pissed off about.
Now, I like this poem. I like the brevity of form. The word choice is spot on.
"Ruined is my purled composure, meant to fabricate a synthetic vanity." is a great line and begs contemplation. I took it to mean that your composure is a delicate thing finely stitched together and that, ideally, it barely keeps you propped up and so is easily ruined or torn away. But, I may be way off base. Anyway, Good job!

[Divinity Sleeps in This]

it just urgently occured to me, you should write more often :)

[Markymark]

It seems like I have read a very similar piece somewhere else, but without the question. Of course, we never know who the "spectral convict" is, or whether he is merely a skeleton in the closet of your imagination. It has the feel of being someone long lost, but who left a serious imprint on your soul. The beginning of the poem has a feeling of a stray memory just popping up, like a string you unravel, but towards the close....the memory is more than that, thus the question of whether he will bind, confine, define. A good write, full of creativity and imagination.

Kudos

Mark

[Moflo]

"Shall he bind me/Confine me/Ultimately define me?" What a great way to end this work! I loved your imagery and you really did a great job of using strong profound words to describe it.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

"To be or not to be, that is the question" or perhaps, "To question or not to question what is to be" The FIRST according to Skakespeare; the second according to me!~Creativity in whatever form should not limit the boundaries of that form with regulations so strict that all things become regulated...mere CLONES of pre-existing expression. The first rule of art is DO NO HARM. I submit that anything which inspires creativity is in an innate sense good. But forbearing that, this is an excellent write. It seems a fantasy animation piece to me...it could be read as an introduction to a spy novel . I wholeheartedly concur with S.K...."lovely poetry".

[Nobody.]

At the risk of losing my head...LOL! I think it's lovely poetry. Rhetorical questions have always been a part of poetry: Hugo Williams, Emily Dickinson, e.e. cummins, E. Poe, T.S. Eliot have all used this poetic device in their poetry. I wouldn't question the poetic prowess of any of those people.

This poem flows like a river over rocks and conveys deep and powerful longing, doubt and fear in the context of a relationship...and it does a good job of it, too. I love the brutal self-honesty throughout. It sounds like the internal voice. It's brilliant. Cheers!

[Nautili]

To O.W.H.H......perhaps it is on the list of poetical not-to-do's to ask ques. in a poem, but your examples seemed not to portray detachment, but randomness, since all those ques...right, wrong, blonde,or not, were devoid of context. I still appreciate your review, but i'm not one to follow the rules.....I do have one more ques. Is it possible to feel detachment not because of the ques. penned by the author but because you cannot personally relate to the subject? How many pose no inner ques., yet the reader is completely detached, outside the poem, not emotionally connected in the least. All poems do not touch all people.
ps. dystopic? Could not find in dictionary.
found it online.....hahaha. never saw myself a new ray bradbury. Hated "Dandelion Wine."

[Off With Her Head]

So you're a story teller. By that I mean better fitted to prose than to poetry. I am not one to judge what poetry is and what poetry is not, but I believe you'd be a fantastic, if a little curious, experimental writer. No, not experimental, I hate that word, but rather...a dystopic writer? Look here.

" Am I stong enough to confront
this released phantom"

It's so prose. Avoid asking questions in poetry. It cuts off the reader, makes them realise that they are, in fact, just a person behind an aluminium frame that is peeking at the work of someone else. Am I wrong? Am I right? Do you have blonde hair? Do I? It's detached.

Nevertheless, I don't like rhyme but its subtlety seems to work here.