MisterJack

Re-Birth and Reform





I will die in this lonely place
this swollen room-
__a womb for all seasons
where bakers bronze their croissants
and women sing in fishnets.

I will ache for handsome woodwork
and chisel men from stones,
let them dance through sand dunes
before they meet the maker
and watch his eyes weep ink.

I will whore my garden,
ignite florescent chainsaws
and hack through fenced agendas;
heap the lies to compost
where crows can peck for labour.

Bees will sting my face
while farmers harvest my ribs,
shred the bones for oatmeal
and eight-ball my eyeballs;
watch them bounce away the mist.

I will mow the darkest lawn,
make eloquence my middle name
before I reap the sandstorm
and place my final pennies
inside redundant gift cards.

I will thank my saviours
and hand them canapés,
shed this corrupted façade
and sit in Nietzsche’s cave,
admire his tattooed walls.

I will die in this lonely place
this swollen room
__a womb for all seasons











.

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If it claims to be God, eat it.

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Baron

Jack, I can only echo your own comments on my Eleanor Rigby thread. I have found nothing that I can realte to in most of your recent work, apart from Drained. This one resonates.

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Ilasir Maroa

I really enjoyed it, but I have no idea what the hell you're talking about...

beyond a very general something I can't describe in words.

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My hopeful book:
Crap! Haven't posted it anywhere yet, darn!
"Only tyranny cloaks itself in shadows. The light of justice can not be hidden."

www.theoddvillepress.com

apple

Jack, I liked this, very interesting and graphic. But such a grudging rebirth. Looks like nobody wants to be reformed or rebirthed. Just doomed to stay in that puffed up womb.
I'm not so sure about the

shred the bones for oatmeal
and eight-ball my eyeballs;

granted it certainly paints a picture but it just seems so strident, but I'm going to read this a few more times , because it may fit just perfectly. (I'm such a coward. I always have to qualify my responses) Again, another very good, strong piece.

MisterJack

Baron, thank you for taking the time to read and comment. It seems we'd just ventured onto different paths for a bit, but there's no harm with experimenting at all.

Ilasir, LOL, I am having similar issues with 150 Benedikte, which I will comment on soon, still reading, so......
Glad you enjoyed it though, Ilasir. Hopefuly my brief explaination below will help with meaning.

Apple, thank you again for the read. Those lines you pointed out, I wanted to have a crystal clear image of eyes being awakened. The mist being cleared and the 'rebirth' coming to it's ultimate point, the point of turning. Does that even make sense?? Well I hope it does, but, if it's still too viscious an image, I will consider rewriting slightly while retaining the focus.
Hope this helps?


Thank you all so far for the comments


Jack

__________________
If it claims to be God, eat it.

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Garden of Kadesh

Haha, I read this through a few times and I got the impression it is about Mexican immigrant workers - the "room of 4 seasons" (the US goes through all of them), the "loneliness" of being in a foreign place, the "fenced agendas" (the southern border fence and the "agenda" of fear), the mentions of gardening/farming/mowing lawns...

I know, I know - its the wrong interpretation. Bite me.

But seriously, its pretty solid writing regardless of the meaning. Nothing that particularly jumps out at me though.

(Edit: Just noticed you live in Oxford. You must have no idea what I'm talking about)

__________________
All that moves is easily heard in the void. We will listen for you.

SadLuckDame

This is wonderful MisterJack.

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Well, it was a nice check, Kitty, and really I might have won, if it hadn't been for that nasty Knight, that came wriggling down among my pieces. Kitty, dear, let's pretend -- -" And here I wish I could tell you half the things Alice used to say, beginning with her favorite phrase "Let's pretend."
written by Lewis Carroll

PrisonerOfPrey

Very strong. Very...I'm not sure, true. It resonates as honest and complete. I really enjoyed this piece misterjack, it just sort of settled into me, taking shelter in my heart.

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Now I lay me down to sleep/
With every passing thought I weep/
Lead me into nights dark bliss/
And let me wake in innocence. -Me

CMM_Kaleido

This rings in the same key as Drained--and I am still unable to describe. The voice still has edge (of Distraction's ilk) but harsh (which I do not mean in a bad sense) has been replaced by something else.

I will die in this lonely place
---Such a pure statement of surrender for an open.

I will ache for handsome woodwork
and chisel men from stones,
let them dance through sand dunes
before they meet the maker
and watch his eyes weep ink.
---There are so many wonderfully deep images and metaphors in this piece (in this stanza and in the whole).

MisterJack

Garden of Kadesh: LOL, no I like for people to find their own meanings in my pieces, so your interperetation is more than welcome. And, although I am from Oxford, I do understand what you're talking about, so.........
Thank you for taking the time.

SLD: thank you so much. Mean a lot.

POP: again, thank you for the read and kind words. Glad you felt something from the piece

CMM: As always, a real honour to hear your thoughts. It's always good to get confirmation that a piece works, so, thank you very much.


Thank you all again.

Kind regards

Jack

__________________
If it claims to be God, eat it.

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Mirror

Jack-

One of my favorite pieces of yours. Each stanza - a microcosm of its own. Multiple themes in this one: self-prostitution, relegation, resignation, and a certain passive-aggressiveness. The repetition of the first stanza at the end serves as a mental reminder to save the commitment from oblivion. I have no suggestions. Fine work.

Best,
Mirror

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Where the barmen have their names etched in salt; earthy and honest like their fathers. -- MisterJack