many kindly say
in time, hearts mend.
partly true this may be.
chips gone missing,
glue in the cracks,
pieces never match.
new old heart, not quite right.
the empty inside
whispers all night.
Eternal wallflower doofus. I pour my heart out, it’s uncool. Heart on a sleeve. I am a novice poet, I write, I learn. After going through the typical twin failures of marriage and a disappointing career, I began to experiment with verse. Poetry satisfied the artistic and emotional gaps I had struggled with. The challenge to represent this experience (and let’s face it; revenge fantasies) kept me motivated and engaged with the outside world. Stripped bare and dumbfounded, I squelched out a bunch of silly, silly poems. Research, a bit of naïve bravery and the helpful critiques of my friend Cathi led me to find a new voice. The baseline: it makes me happy, I enjoy the process. Posted here are my first efforts at poetry up to the present day. I penned a few articles and poems for the “Gypsy Curse” a zine founded in New Haven, Connecticut by Melissa Daily McCormack sometime at the beginning of the 00’s. I chose the posts from my Nom de plume, Prudence Duchamp, these are actually pretty funny IMHO. A few of these poems originally appeared in Primal Threads a multimedia collaborative effort with artist Cathi Bosco. Creating this blog forces me to closely look at what I’ve put on the page. Emo crap? Probably. Someday (I hope), someone will read, get what I’m saying, and connect. Someday, maybe I’ll get it. Please check out my work, scroll down the page, or look just to the left menu for haiku, Gypsy Curse and other stuff. Feedback is important to me! Improvement is impossible without it. Share your thoughts so I may endlessly analyze the crap out of them!(The only image not made by me is the portrait below. Adrian Waggoner painted this at Lyme Academy of Art, July 2007.)
hands clasped in prayer, eyes screwed shut
crawl a mile on your knees; all for what?
devil on your shoulder, angel in the wind
wail for redemption, surely it’s the end.
sinners, cynics – laugh at the sky
one thing is certain, we are all gonna die!
Keep walking by, my name stuck in your throat.
The brush of my lips, the warmth that you felt.
Now a vague memory, it slips from your grasp.
Who was I, now just out of reach?
My touch and my heart, I took it all back.
Keep walking by, that name stuck in your throat.
No hope in the noonday sky. No truth in its cryptic eye.
No use for this present state; the empty arc reveals no fate.
Lowering clouds, the frozen wind
Foretell it will end, and begin.
I will be.
glittering moments and the rustlings of ghosts,
slide past and through and around
that which we share, caught in gravity’s sphere
flickering and sighing, beautifully bound.
this precious mote, each shining grain-
(the nodes of joy and rasping pain)
tumble spin collide
Contours form in the emptiness near,
Incomplete; all boundaries, not object, not air
negative space is not real; but what relates
No depth, no detail, no substance, no place
Blank reaction, edges drawn by events
It’s the part in between
black branches pierce twilight deep
dark roots disturb Persephone in her sleep.
barest limbs scrape turbulent skies;
silent without a crown of sighs.
slumbering giant trapped in coldest earth.
autumn leaves have turned to dust
Ancient Beauty, do you dream of days when you had a voice?
I fell, skinned both palms and knees. Tiny pebbles
embedded the skin, thin lattice of blood
seeping through. Laughing, (it was
funny when someone else got hurt) you went inside
leaving me mute angry and hurt feelings.
Later that night, hands throbbing on the pillow,
eyes smarting, I stared at the ceiling, life is so unfair.
Daughter. Friend. Wife.
All I can be. The end of life.
Pretense crumbles: I prepare to take flight
Swirl away, fly today, wisp of light-
As the layers give, with moments to live
You are the last I will let go