I Feel

I feel

every ache and pain deep

within bone, I meditate on it

make it real

from fungal tooth to

 broken toe

I feel

the clogged arteries, struggling

heart sac,

I feel

every sore joint -

constricted tendon/

                              broken night,

and stabbing knife in brain,

 prisms flickering

the throb and the hum of industry

cogs grinding wearing thin,

I feel

every millimetre of creeping

skin, shedding, losing things

I feel

a staggered pulse ragged 

and raw inside

I feel

all I need is a touch

Reviews

[Eilis]

This poem reminds me of your Mist Man one, only, it’s like the man at home when the hum of industry ceases to be the soundtrack. When night becomes the lonely, erratic soundtrack instead.

The repetition of ‘I feel’ is interesting because it seems to contradict the tone of emptiness. But emptiness is itself a powerful feeling that can amplify feeling without any effort on our part.

The physical and psychic pain that can be either offshoots of that empty state, or they could be preexisting ingredients to the pain-filled recipe of the mind-moment. The repetition underscores the singularity of each feeling while also building toward the cohesive feeling. These things all come together at a point and culminate in the final, single thought—that desire for intimacy.

How many humans could bear the burdens of their lives better if they just had an intimacy that helped to sweep the blunt loneliness away. Or helped to sweep away that sense of being the only person for miles; invisible among the throng. I think of the homeless. Or the working poor. Those who strive like Sisyphus and only manage to grow older and more tired in their pursuit.

The plea of the final line is the human element that slaps the reader out of the stupor. There are people hurting, and though their pain seems distant and abstract, sometimes a simple acknowledgement could be all the difference.

The ability to feel is in itself a gift, but your poem shows the flip side in the ways feeling can become a heavy burden not so easily forgotten in that solitude of night. A sad journey through feeling.

[gram linski]

once again you see straight to the heart of the matter, Eilis, love the Sisyphus idea, think everyone has searched for somekind of contact, a grounding, even a simple smile or acknowledgement can mean the most at times thanks as always for taking the time to read and ponder,

[barleygirl]

This is the thing I hate the most about being old. Not that I have lived with constant all-over pain for the past 20 years, but that I'm so sick of hearing everyone else's minute ailments when I have the (perceived) decency to shut up about my own misery. The medical establishment in the USA caters to this BS, making sure everyone has at least sixteen diagnoses & twice that many prescriptions, all of which become the center of everyone's conversation after 50 & especially after 60. The reason your poem is so brilliant is that the last line says it all . . . people really want attention . . . crave it . . . nobody giving it . . . so they make regular dr appts to fulfill their craving to be touched . . . and understood & sympathized with (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

hey, Margie, not sure I was ranting about the US medical scene, but if that is what you got then that is cool, as for the craving attention part, everyone dreams of that touch, feather like, ephemeral, the shy caress of fingertip over skin, thanks for reading Margie, always appreciate your input, you must have a picture of Dorian Grey in the attic, because your photos seem to be getting younger, lol,