i get to write with the authority of the broken
it lends authenticity to these grabbed words
numbed by years of neglect (i was abandoned
by the first and only pen I owned)
left to bleed poems
onto the walls of a dark cell of internment
fingering a crimson scrawl
that grew into dead spider foot scribbles
in an effort to un-stitch the lips of soul
i continue to bleed into that void
plying my howling art
hoping for a sign
that there is in fact a poem maker
behind the mask of the poet
truth is
there is
it’s not me though
some people (i’m informed) actually like this
dreamt up stream of consciousness which i do
not
own
but which flows through me
(at times)
despite me
i sound now and then like i know what i am about
but the reality is very different for this poet
i am not really here
and the cry of that disfigurment
is the vanishing point
where no light remains
but where the wound
sings itself into being
Tonight I am tending bar at the Poets pub for our Meet The Bar prompt which this evening is Ars Poetica. Please do come along to try your hand at a poem and read the wonderful community of writers we have dropping in here.
It is also of course day 12 of NaPoWriMo.
I think it is like being a scorpion, and you are what you are and you cannot escape it. You are a poet and that is that. ” left to bleed poems
onto the walls of a dark cell of internment”- was a beautiful metaphor and I thoroughly enjoyed reading the poem. Alison.
Paul, this is incredible.
“i get to write with the authority of the broken”
“fingering a crimson scrawl”
“plying my howling art”
“i am not really here
and the cry of that disfigurment
is the vanishing point
where no light remains”
Love.
Well all I can say Paul, is bring on more of your howling art! I always enjoy your words, my friend.
HEAVENS. Just that first line has me floored. WOW. Love this whole amazing piece, but that first line is seriously epic.
I admire the honest poet maker in you ~ I believe we all have an inner voice, whether that is different in real life or not, it will always spill, bleed or manifest one way or the other in our words ~ Love the word smithing Paul ~
Those two phrases, ‘dark cell of internment’ and ‘crimson shawl’ speak volumes to me. The weight of the past we carry around with is, that is part of what we are.
I like these lines: “hoping for a sign
that there is in fact a poem maker
behind the mask of the poet” I wonder where anything I write comes from as well.
I already loved the opening line, ‘i get to write with the authority of the broken’ and then I read
‘fingering a crimson scrawl / that grew into dead spider foot scribbles’ – now I know where you got your handle, Paul! I also love the phrase ‘in an effort to un-stitch the lips of soul’.
As Far as i CaN
And WiLL See FoR
NoW.. PoEtrY is wHat
BRinGs A SToNE Statue
Captain Salt or whatEver1
On A Sgt. Pepper’s Album
Cover Burial Ground Back to
LiFE WiTH A Little HelP oF A LonELy
HeART’s CLuB BanD AiD NoW aS JusT
one Example of how people get turned on
From
off
Lost
iN A Science
World of WhatEver2
oR A DaY iN thE LiFE
oF WhoEver
Roots
NoW
aS Tree
Or LAmp oR WHaTever3
AnYWay.. Thanks Paul.. Great
PrompT i’LL Be Back ExpLoRinG
soMe morE whenEver LaTeR oNoW..:)
This is ‘howling art’ that is raw and real and vulnerable. It echoes what every poet feels and that makes it, well, It.
Oh, Paul, I think you sell yourself far short as this poem so aptly shows. The imagery is wonderful as you describe this illusion of your self!
Dwight
Wow!! That was terrific too! What an opening line — “i get to write with the authority of the broken”. And I love that you were abandoned by your first and only pen.
I love this, particularly the line:
“I get to write with the authority of the broken.” That line hooked me right in. Amazing!
Ah, Paul! Absolutely. We often face the “I am he, but he is not me” of the hidden, lantern-illuminated path that produces absolutely stunning poetry. More often, I find it on your blog. Tonight, case in point. The bleeding that shimmers in this poem is both familiar and slightly just out of sight (the corner of my eyes, flickering). Absolutely wonderful!
The authority of the broken…perhaps that is the place where true poets are formed. Much of what I write is from a broken place. I do love your poem.
I felt every word and I enjoyed the ride. I especially like, “the authority of the broken” Howl and sing your way forward. I look forward to reading more of your work.
So much to like here – the abandoned pen (dead spiders are more precise) – and the poet inside that’s not you – and yes, we do like it. Reminds me of a poem by Czeslaw Milosz who talks about a ‘daimonion’ or spirit being the muse for poetry – his hope was that a good spirit choose him for an instrument. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49455/ars-poetica-56d22b8f31558
Thanks Peter. I loved the Milosz poem.
This has a raw feel to it. I especially …”i continue to bleed into that void plying my howling art
hoping for a sign…” Good one!
Loved it! The 3rd stanza is my favorite! I think we all bleed for our art and hope it’s enough when finished.
That first line is astounding, Paul. It is a fortuitous thing to be broken, to have an authority that few on earth would embrace. Most like to own their thoughts and their poems, but you being broken, recognize there’s a way in and a way out. All for the best, as thoughts, and poems too, are just trying to find their way home. Like the rest of us.