deepundergroundpoetry.com
squadron
‘I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.’ Emily Dickinson
I’m a writer. when I need to write, it kills everything else
that I am. a man, a lover, a heartbroken derelict. everything.
I go to sleep angry at times, & I wake up angry. when I’m
angry, I drink. when I drink, I write, dropping blue cursives &
scrawls, blue as the tears stuck behind my eyes.
so I make up a story, & there is a woman in it. that is utterly
required, like keeping my gun locked & loaded. it’s a matter
of survival. I can’t get thru my bleak existence without a
woman. even if it’s make believe.
this woman is in a place far away. if I had a name for that
place, I could research it, I could pinpoint it on a map. I could
write colorful things about it. but I’m missing that particular
detail, so I just call it far away.
carried in the magic of a dream, I can get there without
a plane ticket or a passport. I can be close to her, driven
by my desperate craving to be close to beauty.
beauty that I don’t deserve.
I hold her & I want to tell her things, but the language of love
doesn’t translate into my stumbling speech patterns. everything
I say would be wrong.
with a mouth empty of words, I kiss her, stealing her affection
for my own. it’s another sin of my desperation, but it awakens
a hindered desire in her. she kisses my lips, my cheeks, kisses so
delicate they are like a squadron of butterflys landing on the
spots she targeted.
abruptly, the scene ends, & the lady withdraws. it wasn’t meant
to go beyond a kiss. so I pack up my notebook & hop that wayward
dream back to my loneliness.
you would think that, in the final judgment of cruel love, the
heart would be condemned to finite annihilation, the pieces
swept out the back door with the litter of unfinished poems.
gone & forgotten.
not for me, though. my heart breaks every day,
a little bit at a time...
Published 7th Jul 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 25
reading list entries 7
comments 16
reads 1793
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
7th Jul 2015 9:43am
derelict at nada in *this..
locked & loaded?.. *yes sirJ!(salute)
"squadron of butterflys" & " finite annihilation"
~favs of word flavor ;)
enjoyed your dissecting journey on 'far away'..
gnte/good morn!
~d
locked & loaded?.. *yes sirJ!(salute)
"squadron of butterflys" & " finite annihilation"
~favs of word flavor ;)
enjoyed your dissecting journey on 'far away'..
gnte/good morn!
~d
7th Jul 2015 11:39am
so I pack up my notebook & hop that wayward
dream back to my loneliness", I love this fragile sentence.
Great write john :)
7th Jul 2015 3:37pm
Emily! xo [Did you know they've started filming her life story called "The Quiet Passion"?! I ca't wait. http://www.masslive.com/news/index.ssf/2015/06/filming_of_emily_dickinson_sto.html ]
Sometimes the naming of things, like places or feelings, takes away from the magic of it being. One day your heart will break all the way, and when you sweep it up and glue it back together it will be more beautiful and stronger than before. And you won't have to worry about it breaking any longer.
Some of the best poems and stories are pulled from an imaginative heart, with a little bit of truth in all of them.
Sometimes the naming of things, like places or feelings, takes away from the magic of it being. One day your heart will break all the way, and when you sweep it up and glue it back together it will be more beautiful and stronger than before. And you won't have to worry about it breaking any longer.
Some of the best poems and stories are pulled from an imaginative heart, with a little bit of truth in all of them.
Anonymous
7th Jul 2015 3:49pm
in japan there is a practice called kintsugi where broken pottery is repaired with lacquer/adhesive mixed with powdered gold. it is repaired, but it doesn't hide where it was broken.
so if your heart is ever broken all the way, put it back together with gold glue. so that you are whole, and more beautiful, because of it.
so if your heart is ever broken all the way, put it back together with gold glue. so that you are whole, and more beautiful, because of it.
7th Jul 2015 9:40pm
7th Jul 2015 10:29pm
This piece tugs and pulls me in every way possible, unimaginable and amourously. I do not think there is a word more beautiful than beautiful...
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
7th Jul 2015 10:50pm
<< post removed >>
8th Jul 2015 3:42am
Anonymous
8th Jul 2015 6:45am
*tear. . .drop*
8th Jul 2015 7:20am
you really bring to mind a past muse of mine, here...
"she kisses my lips, my cheeks, kisses so delicate they are like a squadron of butterflys landing on the spots she targeted."
^^^^^^
... sweet jaysus. "a squadron of butterflys". oh the images that invokes. lips, lashes, fingers, all a flutter against skin *sigh*
*
exquisite, poignant, all manner of wonderful really
much enjoyed this, Mister Feddeler
"she kisses my lips, my cheeks, kisses so delicate they are like a squadron of butterflys landing on the spots she targeted."
^^^^^^
... sweet jaysus. "a squadron of butterflys". oh the images that invokes. lips, lashes, fingers, all a flutter against skin *sigh*
*
exquisite, poignant, all manner of wonderful really
much enjoyed this, Mister Feddeler
8th Jul 2015 5:49pm
Some of us are designed for this eloquent circle of banishment. We exploit, expect nothing and are accustomed to the dark...but you, of all people, do deserve beauty, luv.
9th Jul 2015 00:04am
Well, JF, the above glorious poets have said it all...
there is nothing left for me to say except....Queensland, Australia....beautiful at all times... ;-)
there is nothing left for me to say except....Queensland, Australia....beautiful at all times... ;-)
Anonymous
9th Jul 2015 3:46am
You have an amazing gift John, of opening up in the most organic vulnerable ways that its impossible to look over your work at this point and not praise, how poetically and masterfully evolved and honed its become.
And this certainly at best could be called the peak of your accomplishments.
And this certainly at best could be called the peak of your accomplishments.
9th Jul 2015 4:17am
11th Jul 2015 3:55am
JohnFeddeler, luv ~ :-*
I've come and read this poem many times now and had many thoughts as well. You're excellent at eliciting them, you know. :-*
At one point you took exception to my use of the word masterpiece, I believe, indicating twas a moniker for a rarity. But, luv, how to term rarities when they become regularities, especially as a poet carries on? You make it difficult - yes, you, luv. :-*
Now, you have me in so many quandaries here. You see, I wonder some things as usual that will remain unanswered, again, as usual. :-* Nevertheless, I will venture forth here: my mind is preoccupied, mayhap unduly, with the final portion of this poem, luv. Oh yes, and the title, and that quotation from Emily Dickinson. Those are the things upon which I have fixated.
squadron
And
‘I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.’ Emily Dickinson
And
you would think that, in the final judgment of cruel love, the
heart would be condemned to finite annihilation, the pieces
swept out the back door with the litter of unfinished poems.
gone & forgotten.
not for me, though. my heart breaks every day,
a little bit at a time...
You are haunting in this one, luv, and melancholy: too oft our plight, which Emily knew as well.
The squadron you send hunting for yourself, tis in the poetry - in the writing, ne c'est pas?
And, if the pieces of the heart aren't swept out with the detritus of unfinished poems, then, mayhap, just mayhap, luv, there's renewal and healing in these others...the ones you write and complete.
Perhaps, that's why, your heart's not utterly shattered, luv, and hope yet remains... :-*
I've come and read this poem many times now and had many thoughts as well. You're excellent at eliciting them, you know. :-*
At one point you took exception to my use of the word masterpiece, I believe, indicating twas a moniker for a rarity. But, luv, how to term rarities when they become regularities, especially as a poet carries on? You make it difficult - yes, you, luv. :-*
Now, you have me in so many quandaries here. You see, I wonder some things as usual that will remain unanswered, again, as usual. :-* Nevertheless, I will venture forth here: my mind is preoccupied, mayhap unduly, with the final portion of this poem, luv. Oh yes, and the title, and that quotation from Emily Dickinson. Those are the things upon which I have fixated.
squadron
And
‘I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.’ Emily Dickinson
And
you would think that, in the final judgment of cruel love, the
heart would be condemned to finite annihilation, the pieces
swept out the back door with the litter of unfinished poems.
gone & forgotten.
not for me, though. my heart breaks every day,
a little bit at a time...
You are haunting in this one, luv, and melancholy: too oft our plight, which Emily knew as well.
The squadron you send hunting for yourself, tis in the poetry - in the writing, ne c'est pas?
And, if the pieces of the heart aren't swept out with the detritus of unfinished poems, then, mayhap, just mayhap, luv, there's renewal and healing in these others...the ones you write and complete.
Perhaps, that's why, your heart's not utterly shattered, luv, and hope yet remains... :-*
21st Dec 2016 3:53am
'my heart breaks every day,
a little bit at a time... '
Earning my tears once again, John, so beautiful...
a little bit at a time... '
Earning my tears once again, John, so beautiful...
