For We Write Poems poetry prompt: We wordle #4
http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/
Missive (To Myself) Rendered On The Run
Do not ridicule.
Don’t need your obviously oily rules
paid out in prettified platitudes
from a tarragon-tainted tongue
that only translates its deepest dark
desire to hurt, to harshly humiliate.
Must wonder if you were birthed
this brazen-boned lunatic, living
life like a scourge of locusts
devouring all, even smallest, greenings
which grow between earth, water, and sky.
Unwilling to make single sacrifice toward
changing. Always asking sharp pointed questions
yet never waiting for an answer. Perhaps caught
up in fear that your voice might be lost
in passing crowd of other fools that surround you,
urged on by purging need for even more
blood letting.
I am just an old woman with words
my only weapons. But, for over thirty years,
have been honing them in orange flames
of self-perpetuating fire.
Be warned: I am watching you.
Elizabeth Crawford 1/27/14
Notes: This started out as a simple experiment to see if I could use all of the words in a cohesive and coherent poem. I have been disturbed for several days for many reasons. So, when the words started to take this rather scathing path, I told myself (what I used to tell my students), “Anger is an energy flow…meant to fuel action. It is your choice whether that action is constructive or destructive.” I figure it is better to construct, create a poem, than to blast someone’s head off and possibly do permanent damage. As I put the last period to the poem, I heard a song in my head. Again, brought to me by Joan (I may start calling her My Musical Prophet). Until she came into my life, I had never really heard, or listened to REM. Listened to it, and that’s when I started laughing because I realized this poem was me putting myself on notice. The song may be found here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izLt1fbU1cE
The image is a photograph of a cityscape at sunset that I manipulated because I liked the colors. I titled it Prairie Fire.
Soul's Music 
Woo… glad you put yourself on notice ; ) ” words my only weapons. But, for over thirty years,
have been honing them in orange flames of self-perpetuating fire.” That sounds dangerous.
You surely got the meaning… and energy flow… going.
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Your second stanza especially stands out for me…very visual. I agree with your thoughts on anger…I’ve made an intention to be more purposeful about how and when I’ll allow myself to release anger…we’ll see how it goes. 😉
I loved your prophet poem example…The Call…inspired work. I meant to do that prompt but it got away from me…must move forward. 🙂
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Anger is an energy flow – such a great thought to share with your students and now us, your readers!
I’ve just reread your poem. The third and fourth stanza stand out to me – I really like the idea of pointed questions but so many of us just jump in not waiting for answers. Perhaps it is the fear of being lost. I will watch myself today to see if I can find that pause before speaking.
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A terrific poem, my friend. I too know the bite of scathing tongues around me, and have figured out that people who put up barriers of words and refuse to listen to any in exchange, are afraid of what they might hear. I smiled at your laughter as you heard the song in your head…..hee hee. You have written a poem with which I completely resonate.
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Powerful piece, right from the very first word! Good place for anger.
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Thanks for visiting my piece.
I think we all have people in our lives we wonder about. The negativity which often encapsulates and flows through them…we don’t want any part of it, if we can help it. That watching part – reminds me of karma.
I do try to use energy, wrath energy wisely and redirect it. Sometimes I just have to laugh –
like especially at all the scam faxes and phone calls, that can get rather annoying. But if those are the only downsides (for the moment – which they are not) then I am lucky, lucky enough.
We might have a few years under our belts (so to speak) but I truly think we are young at heart!
Hugs, Jules
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“for over thirty years,
have been honing them in orange flames
of self-perpetuating fire.
We all need our poems of fire, Elizabeth.
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Gandhi once spoke of harnessing anger as a constructive force. I am still trying to do that with my own.
Sometimes, we need to be completely honest with ourselves, and not in a gentle way. Your poem is like a marching, flaming sword. The third stanza especially calls out to me, because I know what it’s like to be afraid of being a voice lost in a crowd of fools. My fiance a long time ago told me I should write again…if I had not listened to him but listened to my family, my voice would have been lost instead of sitting here, writing this to you, writing poems. It’s one thing to fancy oneself a poet but actions speak louder than words. And words can be fire. This poem, no mistaking it, is fire.
Your friend Joan has not only insight but impeccable taste. I recognise the song. I hear the challenge to one’s self even in Stipe’s words. Do we isolate ourselves, raise the wall, and feel comfortable or, as he put it “be the one to knock it down”?
If you want to see this song performed live, here is an excellent clip. Listen to the short verse he sings before the music begins, which seems to amplify and add to the message…
-Nicole
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Power to the matron. Enjoyed this thoroughly.
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