It's not the years that I have lived,
it's the bodies that I've buried
that have bent my back
and bled my heart
and left me faint and sick.
The girl -
unsheltered from the bull god's rut.
The wildcat -
whiskey drenched and wounded.
The scholar.
The sell-out.
The self
no longer self-contained.
It's not the years that I have lived,
it's the bodies that I've buried.
And, still, I find
that I have yet
so many graves to dig.
For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads
30 comments:
Interesting way to look at life's progression. I really like this. Might be thinking about this one all day.
It's easy for me to see this way so far this year. Great one as always.
This is such a unique way of looking at the theme...We do bury so many versions of ourselves along the way and it tires one to death.
Taking the shed skin metaphor six feet deeper--I like the brackets that offset it, but the middle stanza is the one that hits me in the chops.
Totally concur with Hedgewitch- that middle stanza is so raw, so real and hits damn close to home.
I agree with Hedgewitch and Titanium..another great one!
You seriously rocked my prompt, Kel. You dug deep, hit hard, and got the hell out. A+ from kindly old schoolmarm Fireblossom for this really excellent piece.
Cool piece MZ. Love the way the repetition is altered from the first stanza to the last, and sandwiched in between them is a really neat stanza in it's own right. The Wildcat-whiskey drenched and wounded- awesome line there. Thanks
What a fantastic piece...you described my sister's life. I felt your pain.
so many graves to dig, feel this line everytime I open my mouth
This is so original and wonderful! I love the look back at the different stages of life.
"And, still, I find
that I have yet
so many graves to dig"
Of course you do. Another great write, Kelli.
~Shawna
rosemarymint.wordpress.com
Yes, so true.
Yup, glad to have buried a few earlier bodies. May they rest in peace!
Pheww... deep and dark
Loved this! And still so many graves yet to dig--great imagery!
Wow! You just blew what is left of my mind!Fantastic writing - and topic!
There's an old Irish folktale about a wastrel out on the road drunk late one night upon whose back a corpse attaches itself, demanding the poor fool walk all night until he found its grave. This gravedigger sings a double shot of blues, knowing both how much was buried and how much work each next job takes. Growth is at best molting of too-partial self, not such much growing out of as growing down into (worser versions are a sort of serial monogamy, running from the mirror only to run smack dab into it again and again). The pathos here of leaving definitions behind is unique - many are eager to shed those skins -- and speaks much about what the world forces one to do as what one eventually then chooses. - Brendan
rock on mz....just make sure you bury them deep enough the rains wont bring them back you know...esp like that middle stanza....
the sell-out? that's so harsh. sigh.
Yes, wonderful. K.
Yes, wonderful. K.
Wow. That's one tough way to view life but so true. Great write, MZ.
What a creative way to look at one's history..it may seem harsh but it is truth...
Oh, I like your approach... an excellent piece!
There comes a time when its just easier to pay someone else to do the digging....lol. I think I want to be the sell out, other peoples jealousy fuels me somehow! Great stuff.
Wonderful, deep and dark. Ultimately fascinating, as usual.
Just fantastic. You write "characters" not just words. I always look forward to your poetry.
"The girl -
unsheltered from the bull god's rut.
The wildcat -
whiskey drenched and wounded.
The scholar.
The sell-out.
The self
no longer self-contained."
I need to bury some of these bodies, too. This one touched me deeply.
Really great poem of self-reflection.
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