13 May 2011

bound

if everything is one big thing
as it could well be argued
being bound in these imperfect forms
people persistently muck up the whole

we are inferior manifestations
of the one
we kill
we maim
we eat our own babies
we proliferate evil

being bound in these imperfect forms
a sardonic dance ensues
BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO

I want a drink
I want a long line of coke
snorted through a rolled dollar bill
I want Earth’s crude blood energy
I want something to keep me going
I want that damned diamond ring
I want food and TV
I want narcotics
I want five million board feet of timber
I want anything and everything
and I want it
now

being bound in these imperfect forms
the whole contracts and blackens
into wanton singularity
obliterating now with desire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sadly, this is the last prompt for Big Tent Poetry. I wish I could have ended on a note a bit less dark, but here you have it. I took the line "being bound in these imperfect forms" offered up by Mr. Walker at Sadly Waiting for Recess. Thanks for the line, Richard. Hopefully my dark take on it is okay with you. :)

15 comments:

Laurie Kolp said...

A very sad place to be in...the only way out is up.

flaubert said...

Brenda, this speaks to me of the sadness, that encapsulates many people. Dark it is, but there is much truth in it, also. Intense piece of writing.

Pamela

Elizabeth said...

Brenda, have to echo Pamela, dark but solid with truth. Intense, but well said and written. Love the echo and how you used Mr. Walker's line for that. And there is nothing wrong with any of it,

Elizabeth

Linda said...

Dark, yes. But an account of the ways we humans undermine our possibilities.

Mary said...

Wow, Brenda, that is one powerful poem. Humans can sometime be a sorry lot. The last stanza sums up the point of the poem well.

Henry Clemmons said...

Don't be afraid to tell it like it is ... great job. Powerful. Slam the point home with great word choices and visuals. Good thing there is an up when life gets waaaay down.

cathy said...

Yes it's dark but very damn in your face truth too.

brenda w said...

Wow, I just got home from driving my daughter for the last time to her dad's for a weekend. She'll be driving herself from here on out. Lots of emotions on that 200 mile round trip!

Then, I came home to your support. You all are wonderful. Elizabeth, thank you for the "And there is nothing wrong with any of it." I did worry as I opened the comments whether I offended. Perhaps. But I'm blessed with poet voices encouraging me to keep writing.

My view of humanity is sometimes bleak. You all brighten my soul.
Thank you,

~Brenda

vivinfrance said...

Brenda, some of your words made me flinch and want to put my head in the sand. But I'm glad I carried on reading. Thank you.

Mr. Walker said...

Brenda, first of all, this is an amazing poem. The voice you channel is strong and sardonic, and we deserve to be mocked for such reprehensible behavior. We do "persistently muck up the whole". Each stanza is so well constructed, and that last one - oh, it stings. Oh, it's all okay - and more than that it's very, very good. Thank your for borrowing my line and creating something so wonderful with it.

Richard

Mr. Walker said...

Brenda, sorry it took me so long to comment; Blogger has been down recently.

And thanks for adding my blog to your blogroll. I appreciate that much.

Richard

Mama Zen said...

I absolutely love this! Powerful piece.

brenda w said...

Viv, Sorry I made you flinch. I know you don't write about drug abuse, or alcohol use, so I did worry about offending you. Thank you for commenting and letting me know that you were glad to have finished it.

Richard, Thanks. I thought you'd be okay with it, knew about the blogger issues, and am honored that you called it an "amazing piece." My blog roll is where I go to read other people's work before the prompt sites, etc. There and Whirl of Sunday's blog roll.

Mama Zen, It's always good to see you here. Thank you for reading my work. I enjoy yours, too.
~Brenda

lucychili said...

yes it is bleak but truthful!
we know nothing of the webs we break
as we shout about our right of way.

Dick said...

Poetry belongs here as much as anywhere else, especially when it does its job as well this.