The word swampland is borrowed from a man I have never met, but certainly would love to sit down to coffee and a long chat with (even though I don’t drink coffee, I would if that were the only ticket). His site, titled Through A Jungian Lens has proven to be an incredible source of inspiration and can be found here:
http://retiredeagle.wordpress.com/
“Better The Bogeyman You Know…”
Confronted him there
in my swampland.
Place where heat
is only air,
slaps face, steals
breath ’til all that’s
left is panting
perspiration.
Thoughts of comfort,
home are wish-filled
desperation.
Meager weapons
against infested
brackish waters
hiding tangled roots
vines entwining foot,
trapping, pulling down
then under.
Strange sounds,
shrieks and echoes
beat against ear
until silence
becomes deepest desire,
yet when it comes
hum of accompanying
fear is even
louder.
Whoever first said
that feelings are not
facts,
must lack
all imagination.
Certainly never
struggled lost,
alone
across his own
inner landscape.
Elizabeth Crawford 3/23/10
Soul's Music 
Wow…this is one of the best poems I’ve read all day….just loved it!
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Thank you, slp,
I’m glad you enjoyed it, but it would help even more if you told me what part or piece you liked and why. This making of poems is forever a learning process and those small details are the lessons we never stop needing.
Elizabeth
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This is highly effective – the first part of the poem, the person struggling across a real landscape, draws one right in. Very evocative, imagery is terrific, one feels some of his feelings…….and then the twist of the final stanza, when you realize it is about the struggling across an inner landscape, catches one up short and really works! This is fine writing, Elizabeth. Truly.
Thank you Sherry. I wrote this back in March and was really struggling with a lot of scedule and time juggling and no energy. The imagery wasn’t hard to come up with, but the twist on the end was a given because it was exactly where I was coming from. I often call my Swamplands, the ‘back forty’, and never know what I will find when I go there. Sometimes a poem, such as this one, other times just mud and quicksand.
Elizabeth
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I had never looked at the workings in one’s mind as a swampland, but it truly does make sense. So many roots and vines and, in my opinion, sludge there. Always lots happeing in one’s mind, but when it is silent…fear. Well expressed, Elizabeth.
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Hi Mary, I have always looked at my own mind as an inner landscape of one form or another. I can’t even remember why I began to do that, just know it has always been there. And yes, when it greets me with silence, that’s when I get worried and startle easily. Thanks for your thoughtful words,
Elizabeth
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so profound words.
vivid and powerful.
Thank you Jingle, hope you have a nice week,
Elizabeth
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