Doing Time With Freud~Dreaming Jung Into The Mix

I will pose on your velvet couch

sir

pin my limbs to the wood of the frame

before your magnified importance

as you attempt to dissect the inked Rorschach of my mind

my double face image

androgynous

in profile

my cobweb patterns in lace curves to bind

and hold together

the fragments of my character

 

We will fall with the rain

my umbrella, moth eaten

above your head

I gaze over your broad shoulders

wondering what sort of mind you are drawing for me

on your legal pad

so old school you are, sir

where is your iPad

and, your split bifocals are charming!

 

Back to the staircase

up and down in spirals

at every level the scent of madness

bodies made of candle wax

melt into the tip of your ball point pen

scribbling

a funhouse image

a merry go round

playing Modern English

and I melt with you

in the candle’s flame

 

There are decades buried in the marble of this old room

where I puddle my muddled thoughts

kick the bucket of mead into the shallow shadows

corners come alive

mythology opens its palms

rocks a lullaby out of the ivory

and yes

 I still have the cradle

that gave birth to little red riding hood

swaddled in crimson stains

warmed by a wolf’s muzzle

 

I will pose on your velvet couch

my body stitched together with lilacs

my mind pouring the perfume of violets into the room

and we will dance with madness

and trauma

climb the mountain to Dehera’chena’a’Mortuanis

where it all began

in a downpour of butterflies

 

 copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Reviews

[Tommy]

I insanely say that sanity is so colorful in its adaptations, Freud's attempt to enter a mind within his addicted dazzle has given way to thoughts profound. Your Id is seductive in this piece...And I bet even Freud's coke couldn't climb him so high...

Great Write!
RLG,
Tommy

[.]

the only therapy we need is poetry..wonderful as usual

[Matthew Smith]

This was wonderful, very imaginative, creative, and unique.

[patricia]

This poem for me typified the initial phase of therapy, when the patient is defensive and lacking in trust, maybe a little angry that none of us are islands. I love Jung. I love your work. Time: the poor mans doctor is for me the real healer in the end. Your an inspiration Selene. Thankyou

[Kathryneo]

Yes, you know how those people are just forked; and how modern english is da rule!

[FireWoman]

I view each soul with a vision similar to the Rorschach prints. However, each person has unique themes. As we know Freud saw mostly, the oral & anal, hehe. But Jung, now we are talking! However, I think you could make a shrink run out of the room screaming if they saw they laser fire quick synapsis of your beautiful brain. I truly enjoyed this

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Always a ride into the unknown .. but sometimes known ...
Carl and Freud... two old farts who just blew into the wind..
I know they were intelligent .. but how and why was it always the mom, dad, sex..?
Your poem is beautiful to read...yes, i can see you lying on the couch relaying your life stories..



"I will pose on your velvet couch

my body stitched together with lilacs

my mind pouring the perfume of violets into the room

and we will dance with madness

and trauma

climb the mountain to Dehera’chena’a’Mortuanis

where it all began

in a downpour of butterflies"

Lovely verse.

Chloe.. simply

[Quinn Blackburn]

marvelous wordcrafting, as I expect whenever I approach your writing :o) a vibrant cascade of images with deep pools of thought... transformative, and thought provoking. I particularly enjoyed , "I still have the cradle that gave birth to little red riding hood swaddled in crimson stains warmed by a wolf’s muzzle" Such wicked nostalgia, it evoked an instant grin. :oD

[Jibey]

Sucha good read! I loved the bringing up of the images from the past as the patient studies the analyst - the 'cobweb patterns', the 'rocks a lullaby out of the ivory'. the cradle that gave birth... all relflected somehow in the 'split bi-focals'..

[Kerry O'Connor]

I love this poem - the audacity of the patient analyzing the practitioner - it's classic!
As the speaker wonders what kind of mind he draws for her, she is drawing one for him.

So many stunning lines and inferences but the one that struck me as most visceral is:

I still have the cradle
that gave birth to little red riding hood
swaddled in crimson stains
warmed by a wolf’s muzzle...

PS. I don't rate the shrink's chances against this lady ;)