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My last ever poem

by John G.Hall 

Posted: 14 August 2005
Word Count: 237
Summary: an end
Related Works: Captivity • 

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My last ever poem

i banged down doors
i ripped out throats
looking for the words

(it came to this)

i searched father's colostomy bag
i opened a dying patients arteries
hunting for you and your adverbs

(it tied me down)

i pulled on pink rubber gloves
i delved up and down your passages
probing for signs of 'right characters',

(it flushed me out)

i unzipped delicious leather cased pencils
i chewed the end of many blue veined pens
sampling for evidence of your good taste,

(it poisoned my letters)

i slept with conferences of curly swine
i came up smelling of roses and shite
sniffing for clues to your wear-about's,

(it made me sense)

i listened well to many a weasel's speech
i noted every white mans forking tongue
trying to catch that fabled Freudian beast,

(it slipped me out)

i banged down doors
i ripped out throats
looking for the words,

(it came to this)

but in the end after many
miserable examples of my
contrived dialogue metered
out to look & feel like verse,

i gave up the quest to find you
instead i kept my golden silence
in a lacquered box labelled Haiku,

until love comes
needing an ocean of me
to cover it's earth,

there I will sit alone
busy filling the gaps
of your dashed lines
with my white space.


John G.Hall(C)2005

*Sometimes a poet's muse just needs a good kicking.






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Comments by other Members



Ticonderoga at 14:59 on 15 August 2005  Report this post
Well, bollocks!! An end? My arse.........I dare you to stop writing. You'd wither and drop off. When you can write 'goodbye' as well as this, you can eqally write 'hello' and 'hurray!' Stick to your last, old cobbler!!


Best,

Mike

Nell at 07:55 on 16 August 2005  Report this post
John,

You'll '...forget cruelty and past betrayal...' and you know, she's very much here, alive and kicking in this poem. I sense that poetry is the very air to you, so don't torment your readers like this! I dip into The Drowning Fish all the time - you're an inspiration.

Nell.

miffle at 23:06 on 16 August 2005  Report this post
A pleasurable frustration, that is how this poem seems. Agree with Nell and Mike, 'air' is a good word you can feel it breathe. All the best, Nikki


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