metaphysical.

Me reading “Metaphysical” 10.22.2020.

Metaphysical places; mirrored minds; mooring across the broken bird, maybe the Madarasz’s tiger in its mournful lone,
keep the arbored madness
in her untethered womb—swaddle the nest of the tree with aneurysmed red bodies of the moon

salved with fingernail lines on the egg, her baby. The agitation of her veins
makes me ask what images are morose?
I tried to be someone else
but I ain’t the robin in her nest
and I’m not Robin Hood; I grieve, my fingers starve for contact
as I see the roots like the snow sewn in martyred hems of the citrus blood-sun
bacchanal

and yet I still mourn
in the abandoned breast of prose to the
cheep, cheep, cheep

that presses in foreign wounds,
asylumed to the woodlands of
slumbered starvation;
morning flickers with mourning;

oh, mother, I’ve written poetry in blood-flow violently that I wonder who I am;
if I mirror the mirror glass
and nothing is there like the daughter of her fossil father in the umbilicus of the sea, then she is dead nigh her fossiled hand-sewn heartbeat / wedded to a dance. I am nigh the madness, mere man has mind, but I’m not the robin or the bird. Tmesis dispatched, digging the fruit to spoil
and marr the knot upon my fingers
cutting the cracked moonrise.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a poem with a focus on sounds. 

I was inspired by “Butterfly” by Weezer and “I Lost Something In The Hills” by Sibylle Baier. I used lines either directly or indirectly from both songs. This poem is centered about being lost and having guilt for the things they have done in the past. A very random stream of consciousness. I might revise this piece.


42 thoughts on “metaphysical.

  1. I really loved this Lucy.. the m-sounds is like a very slow moan which fits your lament. especially loved the closing
    I’m not the robin or the bird. Tmesis dispatched, digging the fruit to spoil
    and marr the knot upon my fingers
    cutting the cracked moonrise.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I like where you got your inspiration, Lucy, I adore Weezer, and I’m listening to Sibylle Baier now. Your poem hits home because I have a friend who is going through a very difficult time after years of disaster and being sectioned last year. I went to visit her at the weekend, and she is lost and anxious with guilt and regrets. I was touched by the lines:
    ‘keep the madness
    in her womb—swaddle the nest of the tree, salved with cracked fingernail lines on the egg, her baby’
    and
    ‘morning flickers with mourning; oh, mother, I’ve written poetry in blood-flow violently that I wonder who I am’.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you so much! That line is just a burst of imagery, but I was picturing a blood red sun burning wildly, and then pelts of snow as it can cover the warmth like a blanket. Pure imagery than concrete, logical meaning there. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  3. The sounds – yes – the long ‘m’s in the first stanza – the ‘s’ es in the second – citrus-blood sun – and the ‘c’ sounds – ‘cutting the cracked moonrise’ – It’s such a restless piece – how ideas shift – the parrot (Madarasz’s tiger?); the tree, the nest, the egg – the mother, the mourning – here’s the poet in torment – which is probably the definition of metaphysical poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Peter for the lovely comment. Yes, I was referring to the parrot, and you are correct about the torment in this poem. So much grief and confusion the narrator experiences in this piece, complexed with that they feel dissociated from who they are as a person and what they see back at them. I would describe this as a ticking time bomb of restlessness.

      Liked by 2 people

  4. This is beautifully intense, Lucy! I especially admire; “oh, mother, I’ve written poetry in blood-flow violently that I wonder who I am; if I mirror the mirror glass.”💝

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Beautiful “m” sounds in particular. That last stanza in particular–I thought it had a Shakespearean feel–the madness perhaps and the blood and mirrors. But anyway, that was the part the spoke to me the most–it sounded like a woman’s speech.
    (Sorry, I’m a rambling.) 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I like your explication about “pure imagery” free-flowing, defying simple defining or logical syntax, just bursting in our face and on the page. The SOC reveals stunning contrasts and metaphysical conundrums. Yes, there is darkness, remorse, and gypsy restlessness, but also there is resignation and evocative introspection. You are always a challenging joy to read and ponder.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. This is beautiful Lucy! I loved hearing you read your poem. You have such a great voice for reading. the Postlude music was a nice touch. I felt I understood better with your reading. This has the feel of aging as one looks in the mirror and at her veins and arthritic fingers and wonders who she is anymore. Not Robin or… hood… or mother … or father… just you!

    Liked by 1 person

  8. This was an absolutely stunning piece of poetry. The lines
    “oh, mother, I’ve written poetry in blood-flow violently that I wonder who I am;
    if I mirror the mirror glass”
    caught my breath. Words I can relate to, from times gone, or not so gone. Thank you

    Liked by 1 person

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