This, These, This

In the dark, ceiling-staring
into the nightly abyss,
I became not-alone.
Twilight dreams before sleep
projected a life of never be,
but would never leave
in the soft dawnlight glow
behind my hooded eyes.

I lie there thinking of
the living, the dead
and the one beneath
those covers who was neither.
With one more sigh,
t’was then I saw them,
short strings of expression
rising from my body,
five knots in the first,
seven on the next.

They repeated over and over,
a rope ladder I climbed
past soft women,
and hard worlds,
elevating my spirit
and body to a near-waking
breath and breath
exhalations of unrhyming song.

The blood-rush in my ears,
wave upon wave, sounded like
“Wish, which, wish,.”
To which I replied,
“This, these, this.”

My young friend, the terrifically talented Anthony Desmond, makes his official debut as a member of the dVerse Pots Pub crew the afternoon of March 4. He is asking poets to write a poem that is influenced by certain times in our lives that made us the poets we are today. I originally wrote something mopey and dark, but decided to toss it this morning. (I’m a foolish artist, aren’t I?) This piece came to me, like the time my first “real” poem, Night Writer, did. In fact, it practically is the story of Night Writer. Welcome aboard, Anthony. Hope I did right by you.

18 thoughts on “This, These, This

  1. “I lie there thinking of
    the living, the dead
    and the one beneath
    those covers who was neither.” that’s strong… a moment when you were in between the two – solely existing; nothing more… nighttime poems are certainly the best… which is why I’m usually up until 4-5am… that’s cool that your very 1st poem hit you in the night… I tried so hard my 1st time (writing, that is. *cough*) ha… and Joe, you did right by me dude. I dig this.

  2. ha. i like the vocal parts there in the end joe….anthony already pointed out another really strong piece imho….the connection felt though, in no longer being alone through the words…i hear that as well…i said the other week, poetry is just my vehicle to tell story…and story to draw us into a deeper connection….

  3. What a strong urge to move the into writing. Breaking the barriers.. One of my very first poem (one stanza, in a collaborative project) hit my in early morning… and blended with my nightmares… I can clearly understand why we have dreams are such an important part of poetry.

  4. Hypnogogic irony, and yes, we can find inspiration after the brain quiets the world around us, and we get all floaty, like being in a sensory depredation tank, where a surprising blast & bolt of language, or words, descends down Jacob’s ladder, just as we struggle on the lower rungs, and when we meet, poetry is whelped.

  5. I’m the “neither” and much of what I write comes from that place. I like how you worked it into the birth of your poetry writing. I guess all my writing comes from that singular place. Thank you for those words.

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