I 'blank' me

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I 'blank' me  

  

There are three words that haunt me.  

Uninvited they break into my thoughts;  

escape from my lips without restraint.  

I hear them;  

I feel them.  

  

There are three words that plaque me;  

festering deep within me, they itch at me,  

driving me crazy until they explode unbidden.  

  

I want to rip them apart.  

I want to turn them inside out.  

  

There are three words I wish of me,

crave to believe deep down inside—

pray for to overshadow the others.

I need to replace H.A.T.E.

I need to find L.O.V.E.

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This was one of my found poems—tucked away within a sketch book I recently rediscovered.  I felt it fit quite perfectly with my previous post.  As you can see it was written almost exactly three years.

All Sraclbemd Up

I hvae srcetes hdiedn wtiihn the cfoidns of my mnid -
oens I drae not alolw to ecspae for faer tehy'll fnid tutrh.

So tcuekd aawy tehy saty wehre olny I
hlod the key to ulnokcnig tehm;

gartend it's a nmbuer cbmoo
and I seem to hvae raerargend
all the slily lttlie nmbures lkie teshe ltetres

if olny my barin was as good at tarnlstanig
mxeic up nmbures as wlel as tihs globbeydoogk

I mghit uenatrh the hdiedn srcetes
and dsiplel my faer.  

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This is my second poem utilizing this form, well not so much a form as a study on the brain's ability to read words as long as the first and last letter remain intact—okay, whether it true or not, I thought it a fun way to write.  (I recently came across something that made this bubble to the surface.)

The first poem was inspired by a prompt back in 2011 from Poetic Asides, which asked readers to "write an 'it ain't none of your business' poem."  I actually left off the final line of the poem from the first because only one of the words had enough letters to mess with and even then it was a four letter word not making it difficult to translate.  Today I add it back in except I'm taking all the words, removing the spaces and then applying the mixed up letter formula; it still shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

Here is the first...


for my eeys olny

I hvae a prahse taht hunats me
erevy wkanig day and ngiht
I fnid msylef cughat by tiher tturh
tehy ehco in my haed
wehn srsets stes in
it paluegs me
utnil tsohe diveslih wrdos
euprt lkie pisoon form my lpis

imahtee  

FRAGILE — don't open until...

don't open until...
(sketch and image by rmp, that's me)

EMPTY.  She stares in utter disbelief; her heart pounding in her chest. EMPTY. She reaches into the box.  Her hand swirls around touching nothing but air. It pauses mid-box, then first touches the bottom before each side within. EMPTY.  

  

So caught in her disbelief, she doesn't notice until her shocked (and empty) hand rests upon her chest. The intense rhythm causes her breath to catch. Stunned, she looks up from the empty box and stares into his knowing eyes.  

  

As his smile reaches his eyes, her heart skips a beat; and suddenly, she knows. From the moment she had met him, her heart had been set free.  

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Behind the image:  In my last post, I mentioned how I dug up an old sketch pad only to find some poems hidden between its pages.  I also spoke to my impressive (or not so impressive) talent of drawing.  I was inspired to snap some pictures of one or two of my creations and tweaked them a bit before posting them on my photo-tweaking blog (rmpInFocus).  Though not so sketchy, this piece spoke to the poetic side and so I snapped it up as well.  

A bit of rambling:  While yes, this piece in some odd turn of events did sprout from the sketch above, it definitely took on a shape of its own.  I'll take help from anywhere I can get it.  Still motivation eludes me.  Some might equate it to writer's block, but in the case of such an episode one desires to write, but can't.  Yes, there is a part of me that does desire to write (wouldn't be here typing this right now if I didn't), but it's not that I can't...I just don't feel inclined to.  So why then am I?  Because while I feel relatively calm and relaxed (no pressure or anxiety floating about), I can't shake the feeling that if I maintain this lack of inclination, I'll sink into the abyss.  And it is summer, there is no reason to deflate in such a fashion.

An aside:  Still working on catching up with all my reading.  Been pacing myself for fear my lack of motivation might rear its ugly head in that neighborhood as well.

Prose vs. Poetry:   Poetry is my go-to for a slew of reasons I'll spare you.  At first I thought maybe I could allow this particular flow of thoughts to cascade into a poem, but (1) that was way too much work for an unmotivated individual like myself and (2) it felt more prosy to me.  [and "no," (2) is not a cop-out for (1).]

Windows to the Soul

Windows to the Soul

You can hide behind the mask  

        of your smile  

But should someone look into  

        your eyes  

All the smile, all the laughs  

        would be seen as lies.  

For that though, someone would have  

        to take the time to look.

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An aside:  As I was doing a bit of cleaning, I found a sketchbook that I've had for ages.  I don't draw, not really.  I can copy (free hand) cartoon type images relatively well, but I don't really have talent to draw of my own imagination--assuming you want to recognize the drawing.  I have a couple things I can manage in isolation (like roses and eyes).  Anyway, while flipping through this, I noticed that apparently at some point I picked up the sketch pad and decided to pen some poetry (and random words/thoughts).  Among them I found the one pictured above and thought I'd share.

An (aside) aside:  Catching up on my reading is taking quite a bit of time...of course it doesn't help that for every five or so I read another piece is posted.  I'm definitely beginning to feel the poetic juices flowing, kicking my unmotivated backside into gear.  Hopefully by tomorrow, I'll have a new piece to join yesterday's post.