4:00 pm and still in bed
Like a jellyfish, my body
morphs.
Doorways become my objective,
and the drapery my haunt.
You can find me, sequestered into small spaces —
a square, an egg, a disc. I lurk in the back,
the lost soul, the invisible one, one without hope.
Sometimes, I prey on krill.
It's unnatural, they say.
But I chose this shape, this ambiguous enigma.
I wrapped myself in jelly in the hopes that
the fall would not affect me,
in tentacles so you could not come close.
Unused to the shape, I mistake tentacles for feet;
but my body is placid, brainless, spineless, indentured to the waves of the world about it.
My purpose is moot, so my body morphs
to a shape unneeded and impenetrable.
~Hammeh
15.9.12
Like A Dove in the Night
Depression
Holding on to the edge,
a reflection appears – a mirror against the ground.
Perhaps the difference lies in being able –
rough fingers turned soft but remembering guitar strings –
to touch the reality, to feel the whisper of trees before a storm,
to dig your nails in and refuse —
biting and determined —
to accept.
The wind like sand flying through trees to the end of the pail, and there in the night
it's just you and the words and the deep hum of crickets harmonizing with the fan.
The air is biting away pieces of my soul,
dark and secret and completely exposed to the viciousness of the breeze.
I plaster words like bandages over the caverns of my soul, but reality whips through, leaving vacant stretches of frayed fabric
and endless remembrance of what once was,
and I have nothing left to lose.
~Hammeh
Holding on to the edge,
a reflection appears – a mirror against the ground.
Perhaps the difference lies in being able –
rough fingers turned soft but remembering guitar strings –
to touch the reality, to feel the whisper of trees before a storm,
to dig your nails in and refuse —
biting and determined —
to accept.
The wind like sand flying through trees to the end of the pail, and there in the night
it's just you and the words and the deep hum of crickets harmonizing with the fan.
The air is biting away pieces of my soul,
dark and secret and completely exposed to the viciousness of the breeze.
I plaster words like bandages over the caverns of my soul, but reality whips through, leaving vacant stretches of frayed fabric
and endless remembrance of what once was,
and I have nothing left to lose.
~Hammeh
29.4.12
Ichi, ni, sunshine, yon, we go!
An absence of soul.
Have you ever seen those magnetic words all clustered together in a box? Pulling them apart and threading them together is such a challenge, but it's satisfying and enjoyable too. Finding just the right word to complete your thought or sentence? Awesome.
I feel like there's a pit inside of me, burrowed between vital organs, where there is a nest of words, all bungled together and mismatched, and it's my job to pull them out — but it's kind of like that game Operation, where if you hit the sides, you have to let the prize go. Slowly, carefully, I try to extract each perfect word from within; they have to pass through the treacherous path from pit to mouth to hands before they can emerge in words, spoken or written.
As the semester, and, in fact, my undergraduate career comes to a close, I find that this mass of words is being used up much more quickly than before; I must regenerate my supply, but there is no time for a break, a pause, a rest, before the next paper, presentation, exam is demanded from me. I need a moment to breathe before none of them are left.
These words have dwindled within me, and before I have used the last of them, I must find inspiration to restore the missing pieces of me.
Cheers,
~Hammeh
Have you ever seen those magnetic words all clustered together in a box? Pulling them apart and threading them together is such a challenge, but it's satisfying and enjoyable too. Finding just the right word to complete your thought or sentence? Awesome.
I feel like there's a pit inside of me, burrowed between vital organs, where there is a nest of words, all bungled together and mismatched, and it's my job to pull them out — but it's kind of like that game Operation, where if you hit the sides, you have to let the prize go. Slowly, carefully, I try to extract each perfect word from within; they have to pass through the treacherous path from pit to mouth to hands before they can emerge in words, spoken or written.
As the semester, and, in fact, my undergraduate career comes to a close, I find that this mass of words is being used up much more quickly than before; I must regenerate my supply, but there is no time for a break, a pause, a rest, before the next paper, presentation, exam is demanded from me. I need a moment to breathe before none of them are left.
These words have dwindled within me, and before I have used the last of them, I must find inspiration to restore the missing pieces of me.
Cheers,
~Hammeh
13.2.12
There was lemon sherbert in the fridge....
Suddenly, I am overtaken with the urge to write. My creativity feels so disused, and I am totally unprepared for the shot of excitement coursing through me — tonight, maybe this hour, I might write something! Editing and working on essays has left so little room for the freedom of words, and I want to dive wholeheartedly back into my work.
It means so much to me to be able to express myself in poetry, and it always feels unbearable to me when I find myself empty of inspiration. I want to write something now, and after months of feeling muse-less and bland, I'm so full of excitement, perhaps there is something in me after all....
I will keep you updated if things prevail!
Cheers,
~Hammeh
It means so much to me to be able to express myself in poetry, and it always feels unbearable to me when I find myself empty of inspiration. I want to write something now, and after months of feeling muse-less and bland, I'm so full of excitement, perhaps there is something in me after all....
I will keep you updated if things prevail!
Cheers,
~Hammeh
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