Birch

Birch

A Poem by James William Dyer
"

This poem is a metaphor for a lover who acts the part of an abused person, when in reality they are the one doing the abusing, and how this psychological bullshit ruins them eventually.

"

I am a birch

Stark naked           and white

   between

the darker trunks with rougher skin.

A birch

naughtily wrapped

with wristlettes of thin black scab

around delicate white wrists.

All the scars you cut besmirched me--

speckled, wounded ribbons

around my supple waist.

This antique birch

that leers through the trees

and cowers from the pelting sunrays

that maligned my bark

riddled my unprotected skin

and howled me, rocking clatter-de-clack in the wind.

“Come on down, woodpecker!

From the sky, now!, buster!

Come knock me hollow!

Riddle your beak UP

and down

my trunk.

Leave me gaping,

Leave me a corridor of tunnels.

Let the ants usher

in AND out

in droves,

I hope they scuttle right through me

and carry their collections of rubbish

(all the nick-nack lies you displayed through the forest about me)

like shiny gleaming trinket SINS

They can enshrine them in my sawdust.

Leave me.

The broken husk of a once-tall birch.”

A temple of dead wood

where flaps of my dry skin peel and shudder

in the long winds of years gone by.

Let a chorus of little birds

scamper at my feet, toe the soft moss at my roots

and chirp in bluebird wreaths around my crown of twigs,

gossiping your misdeeds at my feet,

flouting your worm of deceit in their hurtful beaks,

parading your songs of abuse

like sharp petals of Hate in the sky

For everyone to see

and avoid

Like they ought to.

Dispel any niceties there might be about me

Like they ought to

Carry your wounds in the throats of loons

Like they ought to

Just for you

Far and wide

My heart of sawdust was

by design,

My broken trunk becomes a temple

to show how bitterly you broke me

by design

© 2012 James William Dyer


Author's Note

James William Dyer
This is written from the perspective of a women who uses the perception of abuse as a shield, and so the subtle sexual metaphors are written from a female perspective, which might be confusing since I'm male. Just remember, the poem is written from a female perspective, and that might be something I need to make apparent. Any opinions?

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Featured Review

No need to make it any more apparent, it came through fine. I see a weak, frail person among those stronger, and a sort of parasite who sniffed her out, and took his fill of her (the woodpecker--although she does after all invite him). This then transforms into children born out of abuse, and are always a reminder of the abuser (unfortunately for them). It's really a fascinating allegorical story. The whole thing is musky and ripe. What I like about this style is that it forces the reader to view something they have seen before many times in a new and invading light.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

You are aswamp with talent... that was a piece of literature you just wrote.. time spent reading you is never ever time wasted... the birch aalogy was prfect---y computr isnt working and I am tired of repairing the dropp nletters o suffice it to say THIS IS GREATNESS

Posted 11 Years Ago


[send message][befriend] Subscribe
Pax
worm of deceit, petals of Hate, throats of loons, heart of sawdust
~ I can't help but admire the rich filled imagery you've used....
a very dark tale...

a very fascination poem....
Brilliant!!!!!!!!

Posted 11 Years Ago


Your explanation does come a bit late, and then i have to reread. Maybe a line at the begining could make the gender perspective clear.


Posted 11 Years Ago


No need to make it any more apparent, it came through fine. I see a weak, frail person among those stronger, and a sort of parasite who sniffed her out, and took his fill of her (the woodpecker--although she does after all invite him). This then transforms into children born out of abuse, and are always a reminder of the abuser (unfortunately for them). It's really a fascinating allegorical story. The whole thing is musky and ripe. What I like about this style is that it forces the reader to view something they have seen before many times in a new and invading light.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Very good. I like it, a very long poem but has a very nice flow. So she's the one been aboused but at the same time she's the abuser? If this is what you meant, really good i enjoyed this very much. Thank you for the excellent read.

-SkyeBlanco

Posted 12 Years Ago


Read it once and now the note,so up to the top of the slide I go for a ride, where you stop and turn and do it again, White album. Back I like it better with out the note,"By Design" heavy pointed finger, spoiling for a fight,the world has changed and now men are openly sensitive, and girls can whip boys, they always could, just now the whole world knows, good bye Rural .

Posted 12 Years Ago


Love it! (Sorry for only a small review, I will come back and give a better one!)

Posted 12 Years Ago


I really like this! I'm really picky about poetry and I really liked this.

Posted 12 Years Ago


You’re always blowing my mind man!


Posted 12 Years Ago


I loved this. A very clever, bold write. Bold because you broke the barrier and dared to say that it can be the other way around. I have always felt that many people find the idea of ending up as a victim fascinating - and its TRUE! People love blabbering how they have been at the receiving end of abuse when it might not be so! a very different kind of hypocrisy. Loved the write. well done :)

Posted 12 Years Ago



First Page first
Previous Page prev
1
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

576 Views
12 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 1 Library
Added on September 30, 2012
Last Updated on September 30, 2012
Tags: abuse, birch, tree, love, hate, vengeance, spite, wither, rot, turmoil

Author

James William Dyer
James William Dyer

Bliss, MI



About
I began writing when I was in the fourth or fifth grade. We were extremely poor and my mother had purchased an old typewriter from a yard sale for me, tired of trying to decipher my mangled handrwitin.. more..

Writing

Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..