Friday, June 25, 2010

Slippery words spew, and I can't stop their flow

I want to paint it
this plaint
I've worded
one thousand
unrecorded instants
only to see both
the deep and tinny
syllables I thought
vibrantly tinted
dissolve into
pale, gooey-bottomed wails

I should pitch it
this paste
to patch an unfrocked
eye searching
puffy tears for atoms
escaped within
abandoned margins
as narrow as
the difference between
my white canvas
and an emptying hand

I have to plug it
this post hole
bored by my frantic
inattentions
and stencil a sign:
bold letters below
a starched cuff,
its pulseless finger
pointing out
there's one way
round sniveling sounds

8 comments:

Old 333 said...

Mmmm, paste. I wail for bottomless pails of it.

A very fun poem - thanx for it.

Old 333 said...

Also a bit frightening. Really enjoyed it, and thanks again.

PO Johnson said...

This was a wonderful poem. I came to think about the crack us humans experience between hopes and achievable goals.

Perhaps the poem contained information of such kind, in the narrative? Or my ego interpreted more likely.
I’ve been thinking about this discrepancy lately. One way of solving it would be to become a real achiever, a puritan without much on the mind except work.
But I’ve done that and it wasn’t much fun. I have never been a real puritan of course, and especially not in a political or religious way. Maybe it’s a bit ridiculous; I’m proud over my Norse heathen state.

Eileen T O'Neill - Written Words said...

Francis,
what an air of creativity in and about these words.

You have been busy!

Best wishes,
Eileen

Old 333 said...

@Po Johnson and Frances: I agree a lot with PO Johnson's observation of this piece. Or at least I like it. I think I found myself in an ego-created narrative reading this. Anyway, it was a good comment and food for thought. Hungry! And yes, it was awfully good (the poem). At least, I thought so. I'm often bad at the subtleties (extreme understatement), in my work and in my reading. They come out and get at me after.

Anyway, thanks again.

Jenny Enochsson said...

This one has an edge that I like very much. Funny, similar to what PO and Peter said, I related to this personally too. It made me think of the fact that I have not written a poem since I published my eBook. The sharp sunlight that almost never sets this time of year in Sweden and the heat make me think slower than usual. I am more of an early spring and fall kind of person. But I need to write now, anyway!

Great poem this.

Francis Scudellari said...

@Old I think most of us only pick up on the subtleties of a piece after multiple readings. I'm glad you liked it, and I usually write things to be vague enough for multiple interpretations.

@PO This piece was a mishmash of inspirations, but you're take on is pretty much where my mind was at. There's the sense of futility that comes with the disconnect between feeling and language that at some point strikes every writer, I think.

@Eileen It's the busy-ness that keeps me sane :).

@Jenny I've found winter and dreary weather are the easiest for me to write in. Summer provides me with too many distractions.

Thomas Sheridan said...

I like the sharpness in this. The edginess of the piece rises as you read your way through it.