Thursday, 6 March 2014

Poetry Workshop with Ray Mather

Hello again! I feel like it's been a long time since I've actually posted anything... :/

Anyways, I got chosen to do a poetry workshop with Ray Mather, a published author and retired Drama teacher. He's a REALLY nice man and I think the opportunity of the workshop was great. I think I learned more on poetry and weaving in literary features in a poem... Alliteration, Metaphors, Similes, Signs&Symbols, list of 3...

So anyways, here's my poem. (I don't generally write poetry, so... *coughs*)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Superbug




The world is webbed with the strands of a black veil.
I don’t see. I don’t listen. 
No light filters through the dust to find me.
Desolation. 
Forfeited hopes... 
Once in the clouds
I have 
tumbled 
from the highest precipice.

Spiderwebs entangle my mind,
Strangle my voice, 
seal my mouth with wax,
As one would do with a letter of importance.
Seal it so that it may look harmless.
So that it may not distribute 
its secrets 
from eyes of stupidity.

My lips will be sealed then,
Smiles as false as the beauty of Circe
Will pull the corners of my mouth.
‘Fie! fie!’ They say. ‘You are a Janus.’

I am Stromboli’s little Marionette.
And time shall bring what only time may bring...
Desolation. 
Forfeited hopes.
Once he is gone, I shall be on my own,
To wander the streets by moonlight underneath the rain,
To trip upon the cobblestones
And lie there in the dark
With no hand to pull me back to my feet.
The auburn flames that once 
trickled 
down the mountainsides
Of passion

Will become no more than dying embers
And yet the scars on the landscapes of my heart will remain.
The charred arteries, flesh burned to a
third degree
Throbbing... 
Pulsing. 
Never-ending.

A superbug, they call it.
They say it can’t be cured,
Just as a Bishop on a board can’t be cured of its gloom,
Its upturned mouth. 

O, how I long to let that wax melt and bubble!
Under those auburn flames
So that my mouth may give way to speech

But all I can do now 
Is to sit here and cross my fingers
And simply hope
for his survival
That the bug will not 
rip 
his soul
Like a wind tears ash from 
devoured wood
To scatter it into the wide, 
Wide world.

For it to settle upon an endless prairie,
Lush and green, where 
little blue forget-me-nots
Poke through the soil in spring

To outline his body and let it 
rest 
forevermore

Within their embrace, where he will lie
Cold as he once was warm in my arms,
Warmed and cooled 
by the same summer and winter
As I am, and as I always will be.

But for now,
Let the trees weep their red loss with me

But it will return for them,
And not for me- for if he departs,
I shall never see the 
light again,
For there is 
darkness 
always.

And I will wander the streets alone at night,
Under the rain, all on my own.
Desolated, 

with a fading hope.
~ ©Sarahgaier2014

2 comments:

  1. Love that you are still using this space. Loved the animated .gif and superb poem. Remember the little people when you are rich and famous.

    Some thoughts on books and reading you might enjoy:

    http://www.jabizraisdana.com/blog/well-versed-in-books/

    Would love your thoughts in the comments.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you, Mr. R! I think it will be hard to forget the 'little people'. :)

    ReplyDelete