deepundergroundpoetry.com
Synesthetica, Part VI (Sentio)
vi. sentio (I feel)
(the color of rain)
pensive perusal,
my mind plays tricks
on both of us;
thoughts racing
towards home
in chaotic rivulets
dodging the ebb and flow
of windshield wipers
carrying frantic passengers
hanging onto the edges
for dear life;
a thousand tiny cracks
in the glass
means I’ll never know
where they’ll cross
the finish line
sometimes
this is a good thing
muted shades -
the perfect stage
for signs of life
to exhaust themselves
in a final performance;
the bright yellow
of leaves singing
their swan song
reminds me there is beauty,
even in death;
silver-gray beads
of sparkling, crystalline droplets
landing on my sleeves,
transforming
the pale lavender
of my shirt
into deep plum,
the color of royalty;
I adjust my invisible crown,
there are no queens
left here,
it’s just me now
(the sounds of busy streets)
the blaring horns
of harried souls
sounding off
at the audacity
of anyone
or anything
delaying their progress;
I wonder when
(or if)
they will realize
the only chest
that really deserves
the pointed finger
is their own;
we seem to love
stretching our toes
dangerously close
to the line
of being told
what to do
or where to be;
busy chatter
floating by in bubbles
on saturated air;
small talk about small ideas
skimming the surface
of what it is to be human;
broad daylight is no place
for vulnerable conversation
and for some reason,
this makes me sad
brass bells
with hollow chimes
ringing as shop doors
swing open,
announcing opportunity
as it comes through,
wearing a second-hand t-shirt
and jeans with seams
that have endured
a decade of abuse;
no thank you,
I’m just here to browse,
looking for something
meaningful to cling to,
something that restores
my faith in hoping -
do you have that
in my size?
(the scent of old books)
I was born with a fascination
for other people’s tales,
perhaps it provided escape
from having to tell
my own,
the way I do here, now;
there’s always been
something
about an old book,
it’s covers filled
with someone else’s words-
written when the world
looked different,
but our hubris did not;
finding resonance with those
who have experienced
life in this tiny corner
of the cosmos,
I am both
performer and voyeur
of every page
...I find myself invested
old leather
stretched tightly
and stitched neatly,
smelling of skin
and living, breathing things;
I’ve always envied
the spell casters -
they are the rare
among us
that seem to know
how to arrange their words
to get a point across
(the taste of coffee)
my mother’s love
was a contingent prize,
meted out in small doses,
depending on how successfully
she wielded her sword
against my defiant demons
and melancholy monsters
that reminded her
of her own;
my guess
is that she did not
often feel victorious,
and the sins of the mother
have been visiting
the daughter
ever since
but she made good coffee,
a sharp contrast
in its ability to give comfort
where she could not
(would not);
every morning
I pay homage
to the protector
and to the nurturer
I pretended she was,
and to the warmth
stealthy sips from her cup
provided me
in her absence,
with decadent flavors
and sweet creams
thrown at the void;
some days, it feels
as close
to unconditional love
as I’m ever going to get
-cue the monkey with the blissful face
(the feel of presence)
for $225 an hour
you too, can learn
that there is no cure
for abandonment;
there are only long days
with a scratchy throat
from shouting over the fear
that was left behind
when you were;
and that it feels a lot
like trying to explain
quantum theories
to the one interested person
at a noisy party;
my words
rush on exhalation
from my lips
all at once,
trying to get it all out
before I lose your attention
(the color of rain)
pensive perusal,
my mind plays tricks
on both of us;
thoughts racing
towards home
in chaotic rivulets
dodging the ebb and flow
of windshield wipers
carrying frantic passengers
hanging onto the edges
for dear life;
a thousand tiny cracks
in the glass
means I’ll never know
where they’ll cross
the finish line
sometimes
this is a good thing
muted shades -
the perfect stage
for signs of life
to exhaust themselves
in a final performance;
the bright yellow
of leaves singing
their swan song
reminds me there is beauty,
even in death;
silver-gray beads
of sparkling, crystalline droplets
landing on my sleeves,
transforming
the pale lavender
of my shirt
into deep plum,
the color of royalty;
I adjust my invisible crown,
there are no queens
left here,
it’s just me now
(the sounds of busy streets)
the blaring horns
of harried souls
sounding off
at the audacity
of anyone
or anything
delaying their progress;
I wonder when
(or if)
they will realize
the only chest
that really deserves
the pointed finger
is their own;
we seem to love
stretching our toes
dangerously close
to the line
of being told
what to do
or where to be;
busy chatter
floating by in bubbles
on saturated air;
small talk about small ideas
skimming the surface
of what it is to be human;
broad daylight is no place
for vulnerable conversation
and for some reason,
this makes me sad
brass bells
with hollow chimes
ringing as shop doors
swing open,
announcing opportunity
as it comes through,
wearing a second-hand t-shirt
and jeans with seams
that have endured
a decade of abuse;
no thank you,
I’m just here to browse,
looking for something
meaningful to cling to,
something that restores
my faith in hoping -
do you have that
in my size?
(the scent of old books)
I was born with a fascination
for other people’s tales,
perhaps it provided escape
from having to tell
my own,
the way I do here, now;
there’s always been
something
about an old book,
it’s covers filled
with someone else’s words-
written when the world
looked different,
but our hubris did not;
finding resonance with those
who have experienced
life in this tiny corner
of the cosmos,
I am both
performer and voyeur
of every page
...I find myself invested
old leather
stretched tightly
and stitched neatly,
smelling of skin
and living, breathing things;
I’ve always envied
the spell casters -
they are the rare
among us
that seem to know
how to arrange their words
to get a point across
(the taste of coffee)
my mother’s love
was a contingent prize,
meted out in small doses,
depending on how successfully
she wielded her sword
against my defiant demons
and melancholy monsters
that reminded her
of her own;
my guess
is that she did not
often feel victorious,
and the sins of the mother
have been visiting
the daughter
ever since
but she made good coffee,
a sharp contrast
in its ability to give comfort
where she could not
(would not);
every morning
I pay homage
to the protector
and to the nurturer
I pretended she was,
and to the warmth
stealthy sips from her cup
provided me
in her absence,
with decadent flavors
and sweet creams
thrown at the void;
some days, it feels
as close
to unconditional love
as I’m ever going to get
-cue the monkey with the blissful face
(the feel of presence)
for $225 an hour
you too, can learn
that there is no cure
for abandonment;
there are only long days
with a scratchy throat
from shouting over the fear
that was left behind
when you were;
and that it feels a lot
like trying to explain
quantum theories
to the one interested person
at a noisy party;
my words
rush on exhalation
from my lips
all at once,
trying to get it all out
before I lose your attention
Published 23rd Sep 2020
Author's Note
The summation of my project. Thanks for hanging with me 💜.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7
reading list entries 7
comments 10
reads 198
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
23rd Sep 2020 5:21pm
I'm speechless...
That was certainly worth the wait! There is so much to take in here - even reading over this 3 times, I feel there is so much incredible content to grasp onto here. There's hardly a writer here (nor there) that leaves me stunned and in awe after reading them, but you are one ❤️
Bravo, dear poetess - you are a pure and beautiful soul. Your mind and creative spirit are remarkable and memorable. I don't know if you are a published poet, but if not, I'd certainly look into publishing a book... I know I'll be back for more :)
-NewB
That was certainly worth the wait! There is so much to take in here - even reading over this 3 times, I feel there is so much incredible content to grasp onto here. There's hardly a writer here (nor there) that leaves me stunned and in awe after reading them, but you are one ❤️
Bravo, dear poetess - you are a pure and beautiful soul. Your mind and creative spirit are remarkable and memorable. I don't know if you are a published poet, but if not, I'd certainly look into publishing a book... I know I'll be back for more :)
-NewB
24th Sep 2020 10:51am
23rd Sep 2020 5:31pm
You've come into your own with this series. The voice is perfectly balanced between vulnerable and direct. The details are magnified, vivid and sensitive. Meter is fluid and graceful. Progression is organic. Your close is perfect. Personal revelations endearing. Best work I've seen from you. Best I've read in the overall in some time. Namaste.
24th Sep 2020 10:53am
24th Sep 2020 5:30am
Dear L,
You brought it full circle. Standing ovation. Your description of your mother is so vivid it was as though she was in front of me pouring the coffee. I love how your immerse yourself in books to read about others, as much an escape in addition to interest in their stories. Your confessional laid bare for all to share and know on some level we are not alone and experiencing very similar life issues.
Your format made this read flow like water. It captured the attention by shape and held it by content. Outstanding conclusion to a brilliant series! H🌷
You brought it full circle. Standing ovation. Your description of your mother is so vivid it was as though she was in front of me pouring the coffee. I love how your immerse yourself in books to read about others, as much an escape in addition to interest in their stories. Your confessional laid bare for all to share and know on some level we are not alone and experiencing very similar life issues.
Your format made this read flow like water. It captured the attention by shape and held it by content. Outstanding conclusion to a brilliant series! H🌷
24th Sep 2020 10:55am
Thank you for all your kindness, Honoria. I sincerely appreciate your support 💜
26th Sep 2020 5:40am
There's just so much here with so much depth. From adjusting the crown and a queen no more, to accuracy of describing rushed people. From the actuality of the moment to it's entails.
It's both empowering and saddened.
It's both empowering and saddened.
26th Sep 2020 5:46am
26th Sep 2020 10:28am
planning to read more and this again.
Just blew me away this this morning, a much needed beautiful relief.
Just blew me away this this morning, a much needed beautiful relief.
26th Sep 2020 1:58pm
