Rarely

Right now, I'm satisfied with this...I guess it could be arranged "better"? but what do I know

I.

I don't press play

not often, not ever

 

Never cared much for fairytales

I don't find them clever

 

Sometimes I sit in my cave all day,

seeking the counsel of the bats and the snails

 

They speak of turning things

upside down, and moving slowly

 

But I lose interest in denizens of the dark

nothing holy

 

So I think of travel, and moving far off

like New Zealand or Mars

 

II.

 

I'm just looking for myself in here I say

trying to regain access to my voice

 

I lost it, my voice, years ago, in some girl's 

bathroom, my friend and I, and haven't, really, spoken 

since 

 

It was in that bathroom that I first

became a God, truly

but lost my voice in return

 

The God of desolation, silence, and

thunderstorms that smash the sky to pieces

but I lost my voice in return

 

III.

It may or may not be true that my voice now,

a bleating whisper, falls somewhere on the

spectrum of sociopathy

 

But in my cave I am king of all beasts; ask the

bat when he whips past your ear in Summer's

twilight, or pry the snail from its slime or

pick the Narcissus from its patch

 

Ask them to whom do they serve

ask who is their source of emulation, their God-king

voiceless----in search of

 

Probably, they'll point in the direction of

the Moon---the child of

 

They would tell of a zodiac-eating nuero-

mancer, a trickster, a magician

Loki's rightful heir

 

 IV.

Probably, they'll tell of thunderstorms

that shatter silence like so many

epiphanies in ancient, dead languages

 

And there, neath Half-Moon, standing

in cave-entrance, in an impression

of an inviting stance

 

There I stand, king of myself and no-thingness

God of my own world, practicing my voice,

to hypnotize angels and all the other dispossessed

 

In practice, to conjure blackened clouds from the East

dancing on air

 

And still, I don't press play, rarely

no real concern for geese or mothers

when wolves and witches eat little girls

I don't get scared or excited

 

I am not Aesop's friend nor

would I have been a patron

to the Brothers Grimm

 

And I don't press play

not often, not ever

 

 

 

Reviews

[Lady Lazarus.]

I'm just looking for myself in here I say
trying to regain access to my voice

I lost it, my voice, years ago, in some girl's
bathroom, my friend and I, and haven't, really, spoken
since



is such an incredible,deep few lines.
I know exactly how that feels.
Its such an amazing story idea and
the king of his kingdom exiled in another land.
writing like this is what makes my life worth it.
atmospheric and in one word :wow

[misskara]

wow - im amazed by this - and nothing really ever amazes me. you are otherworldly, ethereal, but still here - to write for us. you captured me with this.

[Just Manoosh]

The spoken brutal reality of this piece hit me in the gut.

It talks to you like the "here/villians" monologue at the begining or end of a film.

I liked its unique layout, it its unusual ness it made complete sense. I have a little inspiration under my belt now.

An excellent piece.
Mx

[DevilsNeedLove2]

"Right now, I'm satisfied with this...I guess it could be arranged "better"? but what do I know"

I'm pretty sure you know some things because this poem is awesome.

[Texas Identitycrisis]

Great visuals, and good rhythm...feeling you finding your voice.

[Pleiades]

Wow, intriguing work. Very introspective, real and even somewhat haunting as it is so very real. I love your analogies, your words and the diversity in your speech. So many allusions, imagery and very concise on your topic. I found this very poweful and influencial upon motivating to escape the cave that encaptures our worth.

[Tessa]

niiiiiiiiice. i love it. we should be friends.

[Dizzy-Izzy]

The first thing that comes to mind...

All work and no "play" makes Mikey a dull boy. I only use the word "dull" because that is how the saying goes... I wonder who said that?

"The sentiment expressed by this proverb was first recorded thousands of years ago by the Egyptian sage Ptahhotep, who wrote in 2400 B.C.,

One that reckons accounts all the day passes not a happy moment. One that gladdens his heart all the day provides not for his house. The bowman hits the mark, as the steersman reaches land, by diversity of aim. He that obeys his heart shall command."

Cool huh? how bout this one ....

"In "Now You Smurf' Em, Now You Don't", episode 81 of The Smurfs, Papa Smurf says "All work and no play makes Papa a dull Smurf" after chastising the other Smurfs for playing and then engaging in some fun himself." Now I'm just bein silly.... I don't mean to make light of your work. It is excellent, as always.

Kristina

[Ari]

I really enjoyed reading this, and when I saw the reference to you as God, it made me think of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, which then made me enjoy the poem even more. Great work!