Dead batteries

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by twofeet, Jan 21, 2012.

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  1. twofeet

    twofeet Well-Known Member

    (I'm not extemely excited about this poem,
    but I have been struggling with the Toad Head
    again, (depression) and wanted to explore a little.
    Then again, does anybody even read the poetry
    section, after all? So here is my preachy little
    poem about Dead Batteries)

    I ran down past Highland when I saw the boy.
    The boy, you, Brian. Black muscle shirt, shorts—
    your tousled brown head was down, your body
    hunched, you were sitting on the wall.
    I jogged a little closer, not yet paying attention.
    I got to the corner. Your fit brown body was a weave
    of wounds! You didn’t look up as I passed, busily setting
    up a perfect scar, carefully, carefully carving another cut.
    Where were you? Where were you? Why the lacerations
    and the beatings and the burning?

    I think, not a good idea! Okay, you’re one man
    that’s sure I’ll never come across, but does it work?
    It obscures the billboards and the popups. It hides, like
    little-kid fingers in Peek-a-Boo, the problem, the willingness
    to work, the readiness to start. Who’s out there?

    Cuttings can’t distract from the lengthiness (roots down,
    splayed in your very name and laugh), or the wideness (who
    all knows?), or the depth (whether you live—whether you die—
    whether you rent in the dull abstract green between them)
    of your agony.

    Seems beating falls flat. What doesn’t it extract but your meaning
    and effervescent urge for the clean and the sweet and the Whole?
    Whatever live it is you’ve got to advertise, bruises shroud like body bags.

    And is burning such a tearing up for a later rebuild, as a scattering
    of refuse, plastic edges that won’t decay but stay forever, geometric
    mucus in a dump in the sea the size of Texas?

    Brian, tear yourself down that wall! Disappear the dead batteries.
    Try: Talk, Make, Build, Play, Teach. It’s a way to get away,
    a distraction from Pain Big Bang, a movement from brainless
    punishment to purpose which preserves the gift of personality,
    a graphic in your own brilliant color, form and music that screams
    I Am: I Talk, I Make, I Build, I Play, I Teach! I Am Okay, Like You!
    Let’s begin again! Brian, just come off the wall.
    Use the blades for dancing paper, use the mind to heal and reflect
    from the length to the width to the depths.
  2. Acy

    Acy Mama Bear - TLC, Common Sense Staff Member Safety & Support

    Wow! Such powerful imagery and a deep message about life, the world, ourselves. You have painted a vivid picture of place and person. I want to reread this a few times - and still come back to read it again after that. I hope Brian makes it off the wall in one piece!
  3. Tmacster1

    Tmacster1 Well-Known Member

    Wow that's an awesome poem and piece of work you have there. It has a deep message while it's well written and makes sense. Acy is right that it does paint a vivid picture, and it shows your creative work. I hope Brian makes it out of the wall to. You get my thumbs up of a approval. I hope you continue to make and continue writing your poems. :)

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