Thursday, August 18, 2011

Snarled

Deep beneath the forest floor
under trampled rotted leafs
- of a fallen life.
Tucked between the "snarled" lips
lays the roots of man and tree.
Sits a scratching post…
surround by gnarled bones
- of memories.
Where the jackal waits  
- nocturnally
- in me.

5 comments:

  1. Only someone rooted in their life can write without fear. I get it. Am I reading too much into it? Maybe!

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  2. Sonia, this is an interesting write, which can be read in many ways, but I like it best when I leave it up to the reader to find their own meaning in the interpretation :-)

    C. Fassett, why the ":(" ? Does this mean the poem makes you sad, or that you dislike the poem (which is okay)? If it made you sad, I'm sorry, as that was not my intention.

    As a note: I always find in interesting how different words may affect people. However, this is where I find the beauty in poetry; words can be applied in an extreme manner, much different in meaning to conventional grammar. In the same token, emotions can be infused dramatically, but if misinterpreted, can present disastrous results. It's all just jumbled words anyways; sometimes a poem flows and makes sense, and sometimes it just doesn't work. I think in this regard, I flop more than I present works of meaning, but occasionally I like my poems :-)

    Regardless, thank you both!
    Cheers,
    Dave

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  3. Short but powerful and insightful. I like it.:)

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  4. I apologize, David, I didn't know you had left a comment, and a question for me...

    I love the poem. I love all your poems. And I do believe everything you express in your poetry has meaning...after all, it comes from the inside of you :).

    The sad face was because of what this poem evoked in me, and there is no need for you to apologize. How I receive your works is on me ;). In reading the poem, I recalled my mother sharing with me once that she felt she had more memories of her life than years left to live on this earth. She saw her living years behind her instead of in front of her. I suggested none of us know the hour...and it's a good idea to live our moments given to the fullest. Almost 20 years later...she is still in the same place. This poem reminded me of that for some reason...thus, the sad face.

    You write beautifully, David. I love what comes out of you :).

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