Clotter

Some times are sometimes too personal to keep

They clutch and seize and squeeze so hard

To drip out into wild untamed life

Unheeded consequences

Waiting in ambush

Words outlining thoughts half formed

Flowing  bleeding  pumping furiously

In stolen moments of oh so precious time

Where the hell is that delete button when I need it?

Sunday morning sunshine blinds me

As I pace myself to use and lose the pain.

It's  New England Fall cold

With a slowly warming sun

As blood thinners kick in swelling slowly subsides

Who writes  poetry at a time like this?

Where in hell is that damned button?

Reviews

[waif]

It's a helluva time to write, when we're in the swirl of suffering, but then sometimes it's all we can do- if we're basically powerless in other avenues. I am reading a book 'My Bright Abyss' by a man who is living with a diagnosis of a rare, incurable cancer and how his suffering lead him on a spiritual quest for God. There is something of that echoing through this poem in terms of living with pain and trying to muck one's way through it, and it's great to read it in this way. How do we deal with it? Who knows, but each in his own way and creating something sometimes helps us feel less helpless. Also reminds me of a beautifully lyrical John Updike story 'Leaves' which I would highly recommend.

There's a sense on lightness in spite of the dark that offers a sort of metaphysical boost. Good stuff.

[Valentine]

I think all writers have hot spells and then days of drought..I know I do..Either I am writing like crazy or else painting and seem to have no time for either,,Valentien

[Ed Hart]

check out Chris...must be something in the air sometimes