for my children because too often I forget:


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Thread: for my children because too often I forget:

  1. #1

    for my children because too often I forget:

    In this fix, stuck fast
    between the opening my feet dangle into
    and the small space my head has found
    my chest and back pressed, breath difficult –

    I may never make sound again and here I wanted to
    connect, say some things, explain but stuck fast,
    the moment a rock that gives no ground, so many words,
    cavern moths flutter into the shadows and are gone.

    The pressure builds, the thought
    is this the last time we’ll ever talk
    and I cannot find the sound, so pressed are my ribs
    so difficult to expand the lungs.

    then the rope, the chisel,
    the hammer, a chance; I forget words,
    let thoughts as bats hang and sleep in the dark
    and use my ears to find the path, I listen.

    That act we so often forget
    as we explore
    the ears, the canals, the passage
    into the underneath.

  2. #2
    The sense of claustrophobia about this piece is tangible, for me it speaks of the idea that no matter how long you try and put off facing something, one day it’s going to catch up with you. For me the claustrophobia comes in the days immediately preceding that ultimate confrontation (I use this word for want of a better one).

    Cheers

    Syd

  3. #3
    This poem invited reading again and then immediately again, as though it is a loop of sorts (could just be my brain being, well, my brain) and this really pulled on my own fears that somehow I'll miss the chance to say what I should say while I can, especially to my children. I agree about the sense of claustrophobia which is a brilliant addition to all of the other senses playing through the poem.
    What comes after the NaPo storm of poetry?
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    Send your potential partner a fruit basket and start begging!

  4. #4
    Quote Originally Posted by dannyboy View Post
    In this fix, stuck fast
    between the opening my feet dangle into
    and the small space my head has found
    my chest and back pressed, breath difficult –

    I may never make sound again and here I wanted to
    connect, say some things, explain but stuck fast,
    the moment a rock that gives no ground, so many words,
    cavern moths flutter into the shadows and are gone.

    The pressure builds, the thought
    is this the last time we’ll ever talk
    and I cannot find the sound, so pressed are my ribs
    so difficult to expand the lungs.

    then the rope, the chisel,
    the hammer, a chance; I forget words,
    let thoughts as bats hang and sleep in the dark
    and use my ears to find the path, I listen.

    That act we so often forget
    as we explore
    the ears, the canals, the passage
    into the underneath.
    It reads to me like being stuck in your head, focused on what you want to say and what you think…
    But words are failing you. The moment of connection is dying (like someone who is on the brink of death… can’t breathe).
    Then the way is made clear, listening will set you free. As you follow the path of the ear (made up of tunnels and passages), and listen, you will travel beneath the surface to where hidden things are made visible (they won’t disappear into the shadows), and deeper connections are made.

    Did I hear right?

    Lovely imagery, lovely message, lovely poem!

  5. #5
    thank you feedback and observations. Yes claustrophobic is exactly the feeling and yes HH you read it perfectly.

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