Thursday, December 17, 2015

#111

I was one of those that forgot to die.
     Cut out her eyes
     to see what she sees!
Regrettably, my memory's lies
are particular to me,

and outside of me
are sounds without song;
dirges, dances, toneless tunes;
strangled birds, bashed in bells;
     Cut off her ears
     and we'll hear, too!

Now dark and deaf within my dreams,
the future fast around my neck;
strapped tight to the ticking now
and skin and bones from the ghosts I'm fed,
my head

opens to what's unsaid -
not how do we undo what's been done,
but how do we profit from what's left?
And rather than answer,
I swallow my tongue
so you, too, can taste death.

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads

15 comments:

Gail said...

You amaze me every time.

This was deep but I understood and nodded as I read.

Sylvia K said...

Yes, you do amaze me as well and I do agree with Gail!! Thank you, as always, MZ!! Have a great weekend!!

cosmos cami said...

I look forward to your links.
So dark and intriguing. This flows beautifully, drawing me into the dark tunnel of your creativity.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Whoa! This poem leaves me speechless. Bravo!

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is all I could have wished for and more for this prompt. Your stark imagery, which takes the reader beyond sight to experience itself, is remarkable. Outstandingly well done.

Marcoantonio Arellano said...

wow. you never cease to amaze me with your creativity

gracias, hope your celebration for whatever reason is filled with 'enough'

Sioux said...

MZ--As usual, this is amazing. The line about the ticking just slayed me.

Also, I am doing Cathy Hall's "challenge," so I wanted to thank you for how you inspire me (along with how you piss me off ;) with your poems. Some day there will be a 900 page collection of your poetry on a bookstore shelf... and I will be in line to buy it.

Fireblossom said...

Wowwwww. So dark, so direct, and so good that I KNEW I shouldn't have read yours before writing mine. *jumps at the raised bar like a puny midget* It's like you walked in, ripped everybody's lungs out, including your own, and walked out again. Mercy.

Marion said...

Blah, blah, blah...rhyme, rhyme, rhyme.....LOL! Fa-la-la-la-la... Just kidding you, MZ, after all those wows! Somebody out here's gotta keep you humble. Loved it, you sassy poet!! xo

thotpurge said...

Wow!!!

hedgewitch said...

Plath and Kafka might make the perfect couple in this dark dance of blight and madness--no matter how many times you feel the knife, it never hurts less.

brudberg said...

Ah.. there is nothing better than a walk in the darkness.. I get that sense of bonfires burning witches.. stark and menacing (and I feel like I'm stranded on the shore between a sea of blood and the desert of ash)...

Outlawyer said...

Yeowch--brutal but so well executed and carried out--wonderful, MZ. k.

blueoran said...

Pretty fucking smart poem. The vantage for me was between writer and banshee muse, the teller and the tell-her-all supplier to the suckitup thirst of a reading public. (Odysseus got the dead to speak by pouring black blood in a trough.) How far do we let art betray the heart? Sometimes it feels like art is the whale and we are Jonah in its belly crying heart o heart why have I forsaken thee. Or somethin'.

Rommy said...

Amazingly chilling. It's gotten better with every re-read.