deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Unleashing
A blob of ink.
I have marked this perfectly white sheet of paper
So now I must begin.
A single absent thought suspended in space
I cannot keep my eyes open and
I can't keep my mind focused on my feelings
They are too distant
Too s c a t t e r e d
I cannot translate my thoughts
I am thinking in another language and
I am beginning to slur
I start to fall asleep.
I
I begin to count the individual dust particles
That coat my bedside table.
There is only twenty seconds left
For me to meet the guard
You know the W.S. - White Silhouette.
He wears a pair of tear drops and
Holds a broken microphone.
He knows what to say.
He has seen a great company of hopelessness
In a place called Solitude.
Where fire flies
And days are best forgotten.
He will show me the first note
C minor
He will show me piece by piece in a time
That he will decide upon.
Everything should be okay
If it all goes to plan.
We will trade with insight
He will tell me not to be afraid
He wants me to tell everyone
That he must keep us waiting.
I think it is worth a try.
Good luck.
Under tragic circumstances he has forgotten
To tell me what the world needs.
II
There will be another opportunity
For you and me baby.
If you get little jobs you can leave it and
The ends will begin to meet.
I will be your mouth when I get bored and
I will teach you how to smile.
There is an alternative;
Avoid the sorrow.
The sorrow you felt last night.
The days will feel much longer and
The nights may suffocate.
Remember to look for the stars
You will never feel alone.
The Red Wine Cinema Company is the best!
It has attitude
It has zest.
-----------------------This is the halfway mark---------------------
The place was a little too noisy.
I liked the colour of it
The deepest tone of red
A fresh kidney hew
It has quite a succulent consistency.
I would go back again
Depending on the flood zone
It got a little wet.
There are loads of photographs
Of the children
Smiling so hard you can't see their noses.
I realise I can't go out anymore,
But, where's the money?
Where has my money gone?
It is like a second home.
Who is doing the ceremony?
We might have to talk to him next week.
This is a sleep method
Don't make rash judgment
Don't try to understand this solemn episode.
The unleashing!
III
Nighttime is a change of scenery
Light diminishing through my water glass.
Homicide?
Murder?
Did something go wrong?
There were no signs of forced entry.
No matter what happens I can handle it.
Do you know what I did?
I went down on my knees and
He taught me how to pray
While he took a little off the sides.
I am certain of one thing
I have no idea who cut my hair.
I just want to know how they got here
I opened my eyes and
He was already at the door.
He just brought the missile in and
Sat it on the table.
We tested it, its okay.
I just don't think he remembers
What we told him.
I am not complaining
But this is the closest I have come.
Look how much it has rained
I guess it doesn't really matter.
Only two seconds left.
He only eats nuts and
He can't go wrong wearing a tie
Just take a look how high that knot is.
What is that?
A door
Quickly!
We should get photographs
Of the telegraph pole and
The hunters.
Crossed lines.
But I thought I heard your voice.
Published 18th Jun 2013
| Edited 29th Jun 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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18th Jun 2013 6:22pm
I wrote this poem by adopting an old writing technique used by writers who experimented with their subconscious or who suffered from writer's block. The writer, usually sleep deprived, would lay in bed with a pen in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. Just as the writer drifted off to sleep the silver spoon would be released hitting the floor and awaking the writer, who would then scribe down the first words they recalled from their subconscious thoughts. This process was repeated over and over again until a poem appeared or the writer did not wake up from the thud of the spoon.
Our subconscious is an interesting place to explore. This poem may appear to be a lot of random words or surreal thoughts, but to me personally this is a poem of deep loss and hope.
Our subconscious is an interesting place to explore. This poem may appear to be a lot of random words or surreal thoughts, but to me personally this is a poem of deep loss and hope.
Anonymous
18th Jun 2013 7:36pm
<< post removed >>
25th Jun 2013 10:12am
26th Jun 2013 1:08pm
5th Jul 2013 3:51pm
Wow.
This is incredible.
I have never heard of that method before,
but I'm so glad I learned this!
And the poem itself is intense!
Such imagery!
Dope.
This is incredible.
I have never heard of that method before,
but I'm so glad I learned this!
And the poem itself is intense!
Such imagery!
Dope.
Anonymous
- Edited 9th Jun 2014 12:13pm
9th Jun 2014 11:46am
Three stages. Three sections. Three. This appealed to me straight away.
I've never heard of this 'spoon' technique, but it was interesting to learn about it. I've been feeling kinda erratic recently and I've been lashing out and semi-drowning in my own craziness, and this poem was like reading a reflection. When I started to read it, I got this image of walking down a large hallway, and the walls (red walls) were narrowing lower, and lower, until I reached a door that just didn't open. Not sure where it went, but I'm sure this poem took me somewhere. I was very surprised that this door image actually appears in the final stanza.
In audio terms, I'm going to be honest I found the music in the background a little distracting. It seemed to take away the focus of your voice. Maybe it just needed to be a little quieter, so there was more focus on the words.
A thoroughly fascinating descent. Thank you for the read.
I've never heard of this 'spoon' technique, but it was interesting to learn about it. I've been feeling kinda erratic recently and I've been lashing out and semi-drowning in my own craziness, and this poem was like reading a reflection. When I started to read it, I got this image of walking down a large hallway, and the walls (red walls) were narrowing lower, and lower, until I reached a door that just didn't open. Not sure where it went, but I'm sure this poem took me somewhere. I was very surprised that this door image actually appears in the final stanza.
In audio terms, I'm going to be honest I found the music in the background a little distracting. It seemed to take away the focus of your voice. Maybe it just needed to be a little quieter, so there was more focus on the words.
A thoroughly fascinating descent. Thank you for the read.
