Roots

rotting blood crippling into my eyes, into my nose, into my ears.
pushed right into the middle of a playground casted by my buried fears.
numb legs, broken bones, twisted wrists, creased folds.

cant stay still in the stillness of this distilled air, its getting tired up by my foul tears.
been trembling over a tightrope for years and years.
still all that could be seen was a girl soaring in the wild air.

thorns rose through the flower beds i ploughed for my sake.
how could they tell.
thought they'd find me as i lay lingering under the haunting thunder,
couldn't realize soon enough these hands had never been pined for.

hurting the other thing won't be a help for healing the prior,
false accusations aren't amusing for both sides of these walls either.
the ones who i once held delicate, protected in my palms, left me for no price.

strings around the lump in my throat are being pulled again,
the ones that never leave are the people of blood its said,
but who am i to pretend that this blood is not just rotten again.

the canvas i once painted makes no sense.
still somewhere lost in wonderland,
finding answers to how the place that crushes me the most is always the one i call home.

Author's Note

hi guys.. its been a while

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Dear Grace. Life teaches us good and bad. I liked the honest thoughts and emotions shared.
"the canvas i once painted makes no sense.
still somewhere lost in wonderland,
finding answers to how the place that crushes me the most is always the one i call home."
I liked the strength of the above lines. Sometime we can find peace? Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry and your thoughts.
Coyote

[grace]

Thank you so much for your kind words, dear Coyote.. You really encourage me :)

[emmajoygreen]

Seems there is raw pain, anger and bewilderment in your poem, grace! Is as if everything past then stored in mind and body, has suddenly erupted like a volcano, flushed its tears over the all around as if a tsunami - The end? Who knows, perhaps even with outside influences ir examples, we somehow slip, slide or wriggle into our own cure: another thought, another glance. Moments left behind as memories,, memories left at peace as if meant to stay. Perhaps?

the canvas i once painted makes no sense.
still somewhere lost in wonderland,
finding answers to how the place that crushes me the most is always the one i call home.'

Your safe place, perhaps but.. remember, it has doors for a reason. For you.

[The_Ancient_Rock]

Truly deep... And heart felt.
Your poetry calls deep to the human heart.
I really enjoyed this one
I guess home are the ones that makes us happy.

Blessed be!
Thanks for sharing the awesome poetry.

[Pete]

we all have to find a way to flourish in this life - not an easy thing but well with the effort as we find a way. when it rains it rains on everyone not just some. we live, grow and overcome. deep, honest thoughts that are very real and relatable. sometimes we have to go back to the drawing board and make adjustments and see what materializes. it takes a wisdom and emotion to write this. so glad i read this ... :)

[Betty Hermelee]

It sounds to me like growing up as you are, perhaps your childhood pains you in some way, and make your blood boil, because you are angry with life...with yourself and the world...and you don't know how to fix it...nice write!
Best, B

[grace]

I'm deeply grateful for your insightful review of my poem. Your ability to capture the precise emotions that I was attempting to convey is a true testament to your literary acumen. Thank you for taking the time to read and appreciate my work.

[Betty Hermelee]

You're very welcome Grace
Warmly, B

[JayG]

You need to have the computer read this to you, and hear what the reader does, minus the emotions that your performance contributes when you read it.

You also have to view it as-a-reader, with zero knowledge of your intent, and no context you don't provide. Doing that...

• rotting blood crippling into my eyes, into my nose,

First, you're not E. E. Commings. He can get away with not using a leading cap for his sentences, partly because his readers learned to expect it of him. But for pretty much everyone else it adds nothing other that to make the reader wonder if there's a problem with your writing skills.

What you're doing, as you read, is adding the emotion you want to be in the words as part of YOUR performance. But can the reader? Look at a few lines as a reader must:

• rotting blood crippling into my eyes,

First, rotting blood becomes what's called a scab. So, given that it's a solid lump, how does it move?

You were thinking of the effect you wanted, as you wrote, without taking into account how a reader, unaware of your intent, will take the words. And, how does anything "cripple" INTO something? Again, you have intent. But the reader has only what the words suggest to them, based on their life-experience.

• into my nose,

Okay, so a giant scab has crawled into this person's nose, so they now have to breathe through their mouth? 😆 That's certainly not what you intended, but it is pretty much what you said.

Think of the picture based on your words, as a reader views it. This unknown person has scabs covering their ears, their eyes, and stuffing their nostrils. Is that the dramatic and emotional picture you intended, or is the reader saying "Yuck? 😖

• pushed right into the middle of a playground casted by my buried fears.
numb legs, broken bones, twisted wrists, creased folds.

A playground. Umm... I don't know what games they play there. And playground has been "casted?" You do know that it's not a word, I hope.

But that aside, this person's buried fears have caused "numb legs, broken bones, twisted wrists, creased folds?" Should I dial 911?

My point? You are WAY over the top, and well into what's called purple prose—drama for drama's sake. You make your point. You hammer your point home. You drive your point into the dirt. You smash your point to smithereens. You... And in the end, what your really saying is, "Aww s**t...my life sucks!

But here's the thing. The reader knows neither you nor your situation. So telling the reader how you feel about your life accomplishes nothing, because what can the reader say in response but "Uh-huh." ? And you can't hear them.

To a reader, the words are a cry for help from someone unknown, for unknown reasons We're given effect without a known cause. But reader comes to us to be entertained. They expect us to provide THEM with an emotional EXPERIENCE, not what amounts to another version of:

Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
Guess I'll go eat worms
Big, fat, juicy ones
Long, thin, slimey ones
Itsy bitsy, fuzzy wuzzy worms

In effect, It says the same thing, except the worm song is entertaining.

So...instead of you being dramatic in a way that doesn't reach the reader, make the reader FEEL as you feel when you read those words. Make them write this poem in their head because of how you make them feel. Instead of a narration, make it real in terms meaningful to the reader.

But here's the deal: In school the writing skills we're given is dispassionate. Those skills can only be used to talk TO the reader. You can tell the reader how a character speaks a line of dialog, but the reader cannot know how the narrator does. And the only way around that is via the specialized tricks, techniques, and knowledge that has been developed by those who write poetry, over centuries—which is the most powerful argument I know of for investing some time into acquiring the skills of the poet.

As long as you use your school-day writing skills, no matter how hard you try, the result will read like a report, And in the end, everything I said, above, is a reaction to you trying to overcome that.

Grab a copy of Mary Oliver's, A Poetry Handbook from the site I link to below. It's a truly wonderful book, and will teach you lots of cool things, like why we sometimes use the word rock, and at others, stone, to mean the same thing. The copy isn't great, and won't read on a phone, but it is a wonderful book.

https://yes-pdf.com/book/1596

For rhyming poetry, jump over to Amazon and read the excerpt from Stephan Fry's, The Ode Less Traveled. He will amaze you with things about language that will change how you look at poetry, and even speech.

And for in depth "how to" of structured poetry, Mary Oliver's, Rules for the Dance, though I don't have a free link to it, is a pleasure to read.

Sorry my news isn't better, but you did ask... 😙

[grace]

ok thanks!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this reminds me of growing up and how I felt somewhat alienated from the rest of my family....

a time I felt really out there and away from them....then it changed for the better and for so many years...now those I held closest are gone...and family for me is just chosen family.
When the blood becomes rotten, it can often just stay that way...Estranged siblings are a good example of that.
j.

[Bhuyanshi Talukdar]

I just read your poem, and I wanted to take a moment to tell you how much it moved me. Your words are filled with a sense of raw emotion and honesty that is both haunting and beautiful.

The way you use language to describe the pain and turmoil that you are feeling is truly powerful. I was struck by the way that you use vivid and evocative imagery to convey a sense of physical and emotional pain that is both visceral and deeply personal.

Your poem is a testament to the power of language and the human heart, and I am grateful to have had the opportunity to read it. I want you to know that your words have touched me deeply, and I hope that you continue to write and share your work with the world.

[grace]

Thank you so much, dear Bhuyanshi! I write from the heart, and it's incredibly rewarding to hear that my words have resonated with someone else. Your encouragement inspires me to keep writing and sharing my work with others. Thank you again for taking the time to read and appreciate my poems. You da best :)

[FGFRANKLIN]

A tree draws its nourishment from its roots and people are no different. If there is rich and healthy soil for the roots to grow in, the tree will grow tall, strong and live a long life. If the soil is poor and poisoned, the tree may grow stunted, gnarled, weak and rotten from the inside out. It will perish because it lacked the necessary nutrients and rich fertile ground in which to grow. As a father and a grandfather I can tell you I am always treating the soil, feeding it nutrients, fertilizing with encouragement and praise and trimming the unruly branches with loving care. This tree is life and the continuation of life. Our legacy is our children. We poets may call our poetry and writings "children" as well for they each need our nourishment and care. What sort of soil we give them to grow in, that is; background, setting and subject matter, will determine whether our trees grow tall as a verdant forest full of shade and dappled sunlight or a mangled, monstrous garden with black and twisted thoughts. I enjoyed the read and I encourage your prodigious efforts at description. But I must say that I frequent the peaceful green forests more than the craggy, black swamps full of biting mosquitoes. Perhaps I'll find some brighter fields just across the hill. Keep up the good work. F.

[grace]

Thank you! I appreciate your thoughtful review and the analogy you used with the tree. It's great to hear that you enjoyed reading my poem, and I'll definitely keep your feedback in mind. Thank you for the encouragement!

[carl]

wow, and I thought i had it rough. Left home when everyone else stayed and thought I should too. earned a black sheep rating to some degree, but was led to better pastures in time. Odd the way we continue to call Home a place that wasn't a great one at all. Wonderland for sure. thanks for the post -carl

[grace]

Thank you so much for reading my poem :)