Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

for my children because too often I forget: (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

WF Veterans
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.
 

2020Syd2020

Senior Member
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
 

Foxee

Patron
Patron
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.
 
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!
 

dannyboy

WF Veterans
thank you feedback and observations. Yes claustrophobic is exactly the feeling and yes HH you read it perfectly.
 
Top