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Deboned

Deboned

A Poem by gram linski
"

...

"
sitting in the blossom grove
dead shadows in the mist
losing moments of friendship
and missing love
like a bullet hole
wounded and winded inside
tarmac stretching to
1000 degrees, and each road leading
no place
looking for a haven 
for the self crucified
a hill or shallow mountain
in a fog of wine and breeze
sunlight smiling
and bleeding husks of soldier trees
a trammelled patch
of undergrowth
the only mark I leave
a futile foot- fall pilgrimage
for the broken and depraved
lasting empty endless days
and burning nights of rage
a dyslexic life or tears
an unknown paraphrase of promise
unrecognised in language
speak of heart of death of love
emotions washed away
ripping the moon with a 
frenzied fist of orange nails
shoes
news
and blues
in borrowed white and tan
answer my bag's leather dreams
and return to shell
in the mollusc of me
fossils in waiting
 

© 2020 gram linski


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Featured Review

i just have to apply this to the current situation, with shelter in place, living and dying alone because there is no contact. Getting to where nothing looks or feels beautiful anymore...Where there is so much unrest for various reasons.
I find it frightening, the idea of being a fossil in waiting,while living in my shell.
thank you for this poem.

I could not have come anywhere near saying it better.

mollusc j.

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

thanks, j. this was written awhile ago but does seem to resonate for whatever reason, that feeling o.. read more



Reviews

I love the pace a lack of punctuation lends, leaving emphasis to line breaks. Caustic imagery, very evocative. Well played sir.

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

glad you enjoyed, Brian, never got the hang of commas and semi colons, so might as well ignore the f.. read more
I almost wrote: "I'M JEALOUS!" and left it at that . . . I feel so unequal to the task of responding to this when I have nothing even remotely worthwhile to add. I just wish I could someday learn to throw down a collection of powerful yet disparate images that come together to convey such a tortured & yet fulfilling way to describe getting down the road of life in some aspect. I love this word/phrase: self-crucified . . . I could write an entire poem on that one concept alone. Reading you makes me want to stretch this unwieldy brain outside my current limitations! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

hey, Margie, i am a bit jealous of your loquacious style sometimes, thanks for the great review, fe.. read more
This feels like a major life change or transition where the speaker is trying to decide if where they are going is where they belong. Your title is quite evocative, and when coupled with the mollusk and husk imagery, could almost lead me to believe the voice believes itself to be a ghost. Maybe we all feel this way sometimes--like whatever we have done or wherever we have come from--all of that history could disappear and the world would remain as perfectly balanced as it was before.

But this is never the case. Each human being, just like each other living thing, leaves a wake and the world is forever altered by that wake whether it feels significant or not. Your trammelled patch of undergrowth is an apt image for considering what's left when we move away. The ground remembers us. Our imprint remains in many ways--seen and unseen. I like the way your poem confirms this while, in a way, trying to convince itself that the voice has already faded from significance and become the fossil.

Funny thing about fossils is they are our connection to the past. Without that record of what came before us, we could continue believing that the world began at a false place and has always hinged on humanity. But, there is much more richness to the past than that. And, like the richness of your poem's ideas and imagery, mystery and loneliness that stretches through time immemorial. Perhaps loneliness is the greatest connector of all.

This is a lovely lyrical and visual poetry feast, Gram. A bit on the sad side in ways, but then, as ever, the voice is a symbol of promise and hope when possibility is embraced.

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

thanks Eilis, there was a bit of disembodied ghost-like quality to the poem , that being lost or fou.. read more
Eilis

2 Weeks Ago

Well, Aristotle did say, no great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness. So, great...or i.. read more
gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

haha, aye us pioneers have always, been touched by the madness of the moon , tis a grand thing, than.. read more
i just have to apply this to the current situation, with shelter in place, living and dying alone because there is no contact. Getting to where nothing looks or feels beautiful anymore...Where there is so much unrest for various reasons.
I find it frightening, the idea of being a fossil in waiting,while living in my shell.
thank you for this poem.

I could not have come anywhere near saying it better.

mollusc j.

Posted 2 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

gram linski

2 Weeks Ago

thanks, j. this was written awhile ago but does seem to resonate for whatever reason, that feeling o.. read more

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Added on June 19, 2020
Last Updated on June 19, 2020

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gram linski
gram linski

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" If I lose the light of Sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light, if I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls, I will write, always " H. Rollins more..

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A Poem by gram linski



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