After a very prolonged wait due to my immersion in illustration, I'm finally paying off the debt of words owed to my drawing Broken, reach. I had to shake off quite a bit of rust in composing the companion poem, and I attempted a strange form of first-word rhyming. As always, feedback is much appreciated.
Mangled blossom
By Francis Scudellari
Lying. Down,
My eyes I raze
As up-words
Fall, thud, echo
Dying. Time's
Overt rubble
Strewn, I grip,
Pull, twist myself
Clear. Wringing
Hallowed secret's
Dark stain from
Scrawled-on skin, shed
Tears. Dew-streaked
Faces, long lost
Memories
Snapped shut, move me
Still. Captured
In vessels too
Thin, shattered,
Lapsed emotions
Spill. Un-cupped,
My hand grasps at,
For other's
Always, waiting
Broken. I
Reach, flesh transformed
Over years,
A petrified
Token. My
Mangled blossom
Offered too,
All passing by
7 comments:
Superb Francis, this is real poetry. This is what a genuine poem is to me, catch words, mysterious and reader-engaging. Keep posting.
I'm not a great poetry person. So it may be weird but this makes me think of one of those flowers on a gravestone, getting weathered standing in it's place but still standing in memory.
@Jena If you'll keep reading, I'll keep posting :).
@Laura It's not weird at all. The gravestone reference is completely appropriate to the poem.
And aging towards death our tender leaves wrinkled as our minds illuminate. Death only exists as memories to the living and thus the artist creates.
I always enjoy your work Francis - your hard earned ability to transcend common perception is an achievement towards perpetual becoming. No illusions my friend:)
@Bobby That's very high praise, and I'm very flattered. Yours is certainly one of the best and most poetic comments I've ever gotten :).
i really enjoyed this one! alot of play, rich with play, subliminal...
keep seeing something new each time around... i see that it is the first word of each stanza that is being rhymed, but then looking inbetween the periods/stops, the sentence is enjambed and broken off at its last word. a lot of force and attention is on that word too...
in the last stanza, the last phrase of the poem, "My Mangled blossom
/ Offered too, / All passing by"
here it ends but i find myself going back to the beginning (up-words)... to finish it off (or to start again) "All passing by / Lying." wow! depending on how you say these strings of words the meaning changes...
love the hyphenated words.
(it seems like a lot of art is devoid? of scents and smells)
i've never seen or read anything like this before! i love it!
@Ms. O.D. Wow ... thanks. I really appreciate the time you put into reading this, and the enthusiastic analysis :). I always worry that the things I do won't make sense to anyone but myself. It's very gratifying to know that you enjoyed the word play and multiple meanings. There are a number of influences, but it's definitely original. And it is very subliminal ... my mind is a very fertile place for an in-depth study :)
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