The Poem Refuses to Be Written

i keep sitting down to write this poem
and i keep passing out.
it's almost as if the writing of the poem
will reveal something i'm not yet ready to deal with.

it's strange.
this exhaustion comes over me
after i pen the first word.

i know it must be something important
but i'm out like a light within seconds
of thinking of the first few lines.

and then i wake up to obligation
and the thoughts have disappeared.

i know it was something about
a basement and a boy
and being ashamed at my innocence.

i know too, it was about fear.
all my poems are about fear.
in some way or another.

you know when a poem must be written.
and you know when you just can't do it.
but you don't know why.
perhaps i'm afraid to know why.

there was something too about love
and saving someone
who didn't want to be saved.

i think there was a pine forest too.
i remember the smell
and trying to write that
before i fell asleep.

maybe tonight it will all come to me.
in a dream.
or in the bottom of a bottle.
or better yet
the bottom of an expresso mug.

maybe it will destroy me
rip me wide open
force me to examine
unexamined things.

someone once told me
that is what poetry is
meant for.

someone also told me
i was meant for poetry.
i don't know about any of it.

 

Reviews

[Tim McGovern]

I'm a firm believer in almost everything being based on fear.
fear or desire ( which is just another form of fear)
what I love about this is that I want to know what happens, I want to see the poem and see what happens to you when you write it, and what does it mean?
Jesus I'm coming over with some Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, a few bottles of Milagro tequila and we'll get this f****n' poem written!

Oh
Nice work
thank you
Namaste'
Tim

[THE BLACK SEAL]

i rather enjyed this one. it exposes the workings of the mind that move beneath the surface of things

[Brenda Sue]

Very well written. I too am sometimes like this. Wonderfully penned. Great job.

[lost girl]

I do...I know about it..... I know that your hand is but a vise to your heart and that though you are strong, you are weak. I know that you and I share alot, alot more than is seen on the surface...... Keep passing out and you may have a masterpiece........it's being written while you sleep......in chambers where fear does not live and freedom has no guide....kudos for thoughts of reason...hugs for the absence of those thoughts in your soul

[Shara Faskowitz]

This is a very interesting piece of writing. At first I thought it was a meander that wasn't really going anywhere (and I was thinking "Gulp. What can I say that's nice about this poem?" lol), but the glimpses you give of what you can't quite remember make for a very interesting poem. It has lots of sensual imagery that draws the reader in--the basement, the boy and the shame, the pine forest, the expresso mug. And I'm fascinated by the fact that it's a poem about what it isn't about lol. That's not easy to pull off, but I believe you've done it. I think it needs editing, maybe add some more details about what you can't quite remember to raise the interest level for readers. Otherwise, the "I can't remember" refrain gets kind of stale. Just a thought. :-) And if you get a chance, read Wallace Stevens's "Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock," which your poem sort of reminds me of--it's a similar concept: a poem about what *isn't" happening. Thanks for the read!

Peace,
Shara