"THE JUDGES ARE #$%!ING DRUNK!"... Discuss.
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Here is a new poem I wrote. I was inspired by a friend's blog post. Instead of the typical pat on the back and "keep your chin up" sayings I thought I'd instead pen a piece. So here it goes:
Hearts wrote:
Hearts are chunks of perfect beauty we all carry within us. These little sparks are proof positive of a blissful joy beyond understanding. So powerful it trancends our earthly senses and points to a metaphyscial reality that rings true in our souls. Though unseen, we do catch glimpeses of it's effects in our lives.
Like a new born baby, young hearts have a pure glow to them you can actually smell. They exude syrupyness without leaving that sickly sweet sting on your tongue. A naive innocence so absolute we pass laws to make destroying such a wonderous thing the most heinous crime.
But hearts are made to be broken. Like any good thing they must come to an end. Fixing a broken heart is a dirty job to be sure. It can seem impossibly daunting when you see the countless twisted shards strewn across the floor like shrapnel. Your hands are sure to get bloody with the sharp edges of raw emotions cutting into your fingers. You'll suffer setbacks of missing pieces. Even when you finally finish the puzzle and the pieces back together you'll see veins running through a once clear and seamless surface like cancerous fingers gripping your heart and refusing to let go.
Here is the part where so many of us go wrong. In the name of safety and a misled effort to avoid the same tragedy again we lock our heart away in a dungeon. Caged up like a criminal, as if to say it was at fault. Too open, too accepting, too trusting. Instead what we should do is cast open the doors and let the light shine through us.
Sure it won't shine the same. But that simple shimmer is replaced by a full spectrum of hues and brightness. Those white veins turn into twisiting pillars of light. Tiny inflections in them make the light dance in new and wonderous ways.
Hearts are made to be broken.
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Love it!
I see your writing growing so much Duff, thanks for sharing this here.
Maybe you'll share it with us at Burlington Slam Project on the 18th?
You know; the night we feature that fella from Chicago... what's his name? JW something?
;)
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thanks tomy. it's weird. so often it feels like I'm standing in the middle of a field with a golf club in my hand during a thunderstorm. I just have to stand there and wait for lightning to strike. because when I try to force it on my own it doesn't come out quite right.
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Good piece Duff, but if you're open to criticism, got a few pointers...
Try to avoid cliches, because they weigh down writing. You use oft-worn phrases such as "let the light shine through us" and "Like any good thing they must come to an end". Try to find fresh imagery, words slung together in ways we've never seen before.
Also, there are some phrases that feel clunky, as if you were trying too hard to find synonyms. I'm thinking of phrases such as "They exude syrupyness without leaving that sickly sweet sting on your tongue." Maybe it's just me, but the word "exude" seems out of place here; just say what you mean. And syrupyness sounds like a little awkward too.
It's almost there, just needs some cleaning up....
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Hey Dave,
It's far from polished. I hear what you're saying about cliches. I was trying to take the typical cliche and turn them a little. But I certainly don't need to use quite so many.
"Exude syrupyness" is very clunky & awkward. I wanted to say sweetness... but then use it again in the same line in a different context would have been worse, IMHO.
Actually the centre stanza, when I first say 'hearts are made to be broken' feels clunky to me. I feel I need to move the lines around and use better transitions to make it flow smoother.
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Duff,
Love the poem, and though I agree with Dave about the use of cliche (where the hell is the accent button on this keyboard?) my enjoyment started peaking with the use of the word 'syrupiness'. Texture is a hard thing to get across in poetry and I find it incredibly underused...what I would love to see is the continuation of the texture through the 'heart-ripping' stanzas as an underlying metaphor for blood.
That being said, I didn't like the word 'exude' either. But that's the beauty of drafting poetry...lines can change from day to day until you find exactly what you're looking for.
Look forward to hearing it live.
The rewrite
Hearts are chunks of perfect beauty we all carry within us. These little sparks are proof positive of a blissful joy beyond understanding. So powerful it trancends our earthly senses and points to a metaphyscial reality that rings true in our souls.
Though unseen, we do catch glimpeses of it's effects in our lives. Like a new born baby, young hearts have a pure glow to them you can actually smell. Like a giant bag of rainbow cotton candy but without that sticky sweetness getting all over your face and fingers. A naive innocence so absolute we pass laws to make destroying such a wonderous thing the most heinous crime. But hearts are made to be broken.
Now fixing a broken heart is a dirty job to be sure. It can seem impossibly daunting when you see the countless twisted shards strewn across the floor like shrapnel. Your hands will get bloody from the sharp edges of raw emotions cutting into your fingers. You'll suffer setbacks of missing pieces and ones that don't seem to fit anywhere. Even when you finally finish putting all the pieces of the puzzle back together there'll be veins scarring a once clear and seamless surface like cancerous fingers gripping your heart and refusing to let go.
Here is the part where so many of us go wrong. In the name of safety and a misled effort to avoid the same tragedy again we lock our heart away in a dungeon. Caged up like a criminal, as if to say it was at fault. Too open, too accepting, too trusting. Instead of leaving it in the dark and dank recesses of our souls it should be put on display. Wear your heart on your sleeve like a badge of honour.
Sure, in the light of day it won't shine quite the same. So what! That old familiar simple shimmer has now given way to a full spectrum of hues and brightness. Those white veins have turned into twisiting pillars of light. The tiny inflections in them make the light dance in new and wonderous ways.
Hearts are made to be broken.
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