Monday, December 28, 2009

one word short: circuit

the mississippi lines

down your back

past the depot of your


the riverways



bells in the ringing

the everything
that we tell ourselves

in the backways

the playways

the telling that goes

no further

than the mornings

whispers cannot fly

visions dare not try

taste is in the next room

will we go there

will we

will we





Anonymous Richard said...

Ouch. History and pain at vibratory levels. Blood cries out. Crimes are eventually revealed.

3:13 PM  
Blogger jsd said...

the agonies that leave scars like a trail down the backways the playways, the headways.

3:22 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Richard and jsd: Now, this was an interesting pair of comments: funny, in that I wrote the poem, if memory serves, to Teena Marie's "If I Were a Bell" in the background, and really saw this as a groovy little love song, "agonies" notwithstanding, even with the "dare nots" and "cannots." Which is not to dismiss y'all's readings at all. I kept wanting to take "agonies" out of the poem, since given my conscious sense of the piece, it did not seem to belong; but, when I did take it out, it cried out to be put back in.

So do things collide, and sometimes I just need to get out the way...

6:12 PM  
Blogger anno said...

Interesting, both the poem and the comments. For some I can't read "agony" without thinking the countervailing "ecstasy", and you know there's no passion without suffering, and maybe love is what it takes to encompass it all. Sure felt like a love poem to me, full of hope & quivering trepidation, which is perhaps only to be expected.

9:16 AM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

I was feeling all the little racing down around and over and through - the electrical impulses moving through the wires, humming and flying. No agony for me (unless you grab the wires and break the current)

2:49 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

I was thinking that same thing that agonies are just the prelude to ecstasy. Loved the picture and the words. Great poem. And reading the comments, I'm wondering if women aren't wired differently from men to go through the agony/ecstasy of childbirth... To me this was a happy poem.

5:32 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Anno: I like "quivering trepidation": I think that gets it nicely.

8:00 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: I think you caught hold of the everythinging...

8:01 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Happy to me, too, T: agonies in the depot, and too many ways not to be playing, everythinging, in the moment, where even taste, vision, whispers fall away.

Still, not to dismiss Richard's and jsd's takes, there was tension in the final four lines: I wrestled with them and then just let them declare themselves alongside the depot.

8:07 PM  

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