Wordle #72

Week 72

I pour from the lips

Of a dwindling bonfire,

Hair catching on ash

And dragon teeth.

Once held nothing

Escapes my heart,

Unmarked vessel,

Supplicant,

I pick splinters from

Trickling knees

And contemplate

The bastards both

Piqued and imagined.

A world emptied

By a tenacious wind

Compounds

My myriad fractures.

My eyes track the shadows

Pinioned inside,

The liminal shards

Of my untethered mind.

I rip the sleeves

From my favorite shirt

Plug the holes

In my leaking chest.

Demons glimpsed

In a hallway mirror

Bulge behind

My wallowing eyes.

Circumspect,

I swallow my feelings

With a glass of salt.

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/03/wordle-72-august-3-2015%E2%80%B3/

Advertisements

27 responses to “Wordle #72

    • I have also survived sexual assault and that trauma certainly bleeds into a lot of my work, as poetry is one of my methods for healing

      Thank you for your comment

      • Oh…I didn’t see this before I posted my reply…I would have said something…although I don’t think any right words are on my lips…I have family and friends that are victims to this and my heart goes out to you.

        I have dreams that cause me to question…sometimes I wonder if I haven’t blocked something out from way back.

        Any way…difficult and raw indeed.

      • I am sorry to hear about the distressing dreams, repression is really common in trauma especially is small children who can’t even really process what is happening to them. I sincerely hope that nothing did happen though, I would not wish such an experience on anyone

        Thank you so much for your kindness

      • And thank you, for your kindness as well…I hope that your recovery continues to heal you on all levels and I thank you for your honesty and trust…I’m sure you’re a Light to many on this same or similar path. ♥

  1. “Hair catching on ash” … Wow. I really love this. I know you’re talking about being dragged through a fire that’s already been put out. But I can’t help but read it like a variation of “hair catching on fire.” That says so much about the speaker’s feelings.

    “I pick splinters from
    Trickling knees
    And contemplate” …

    My eyes do this: “I prick splinters from trick-ling nees and contempt-plate-shun.” LOL. Whatever that means. “I pick splinters from trickling knees and contemplation” … I love that, all by itself.

    “Compounds
    My myriad fractures”

    Com/pounds. LOL. Best line break ever. Same with “Circumspect.” Sir/cum/spect(or “speaked”). Sheesh, I am cracking up over that. 🙂 Do you spit or (s)wallow? The latter, I see:
    “I swallow my feelings
    With a glass of salt.”

    This is a tearful BJ.

    (Don’t publish this if it’s inappropriate.)

  2. It is sad that children had to endure the traumatic experience when they cannot even comprehend what it was about. The mental torture lingered on through life apparently! Very poignant take Yves!

    Hank

  3. Salt is a powerful element. For a ward against evil. At least in some of the shows I have watched where a circle of salt is put around something as a barrier so evil can’t enter or escape.

    And writing offers it’s own power toward continued healing.

    I went in a different direction because I also used an additional prompt.
    I had some net issues – but It is up an posted in the linky.

    Hugs, Jules

  4. When I read “I swallow my feelings/With a glass of salt.” I thought how great-aunt thought of sea water as healing for cuts and bruises, and the horrible practice of pour salt on wounds, such as lash-marks, to make these hurt more. Of how we can pour salt on our own wounds, or we can turn put our feet in the sea water. While not necessarily doing either consciously.
    Poem had a lot of resonance with me, but for some different reasons.

    • Absolutely there is another use of salt that can be applied in this context. I remember when I was a kid my mom shut my finger in the car door (something she did by accident on a number of occassions, how I never broke my fingers considering that she slammed the door I don’t know) and I used to have soak my hands in Epsom salts

  5. Images swirling and swallowing and swooping like gulls flying over the sea – turbulent but healing – images pouring forth in a froth of white that can perhaps act as a balm.

    Another powerful poem Yves – well woven and intriguing how you managed to weave the words so effectively. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s