Humans, just figures in headlights and rear-view mirrors:
targets, possessions, poisons.
Trading familiarity for quantity,
no purpose, no own route,
no added aroma.
Weighted down, heave and hard as metal.
Design the new cycle –
Job? Serve, embrace, listen.
This is what I call fun! Although I ended up with a rather dystopian poem.
I would love to do this in the proper cut-words-our-of-newspapars way but I don’t have any at hand. Instead I used a book (no scissors were called into action). I bought this book about three years ago and is still pristine as the day it came home with me. It is called ‘Periodic Tales: The Curious Lives of the Elements‘ by Hugh Aldersay-Williams. And I have no idea why I haven’t read it yet. I don’t have an explanation.
I was very torn whether or not to include a comment on this poem or not. Especially because instead of talking about the environmental crisis we are in and which I’ve tried to express in my poem – I actually wanted to mention fingers as tools for communication. I did a writing course few year back and there was a girl (whose name I don’t remember and it is driving me absolutely crazy) who was and I guess still is a puppeteer. She also was and I hope still is an amazingly talented poet. I loved her poems. I will never forget a line she wrote ‘my hand is a naked puppet’ and it was the first thing that popped in my head when I read the assignment for today. I’m sure you know someone who ‘talks with their hands’, use them to emphasise emotion and when you are in different country and don’t speak the language – how many times have you used the pointing technique? Fingers have their own voice – whether it is the official sign language or one that we use without even realising.
I seek the sadness in the crowd of seven faces
I'm surprised by so many.
As a child I prayed every night
I asked God for forgiveness that only I could give
- but how do you forgive fear?
I stand inside this dead house sheltering
my heart colder than the frigid limbs hidden
in the coffin
Maybe one day I will forgive
but not today. The dead body will not change it.
Then I remember.
You are still alive.
I’m having so much fun attending this writing class – I’m looking forward to the weekend just to read some of the other poems and meet new people. I have only managed a fraction so far and I am impressed by the talent that is here. Well done you folks!