Contemplating.

Contemplating.
Wayzata, Minnesota

Monday, February 24, 2014

The Mag - That Which You Feel

In generation after generation of wordsmiths, just as we blend our humble mixtures to bake, cool and later frost as our own delicious concoction, so shall our story go.



Poet's Sleep, 1989 by Chang Houg Ahn

Image provided by Tess Kincaid, for a magpie tale.



THAT WHICH YOU FEEL
YOU SEE

Drowsy, he submerges between gargled thoughts and deliverance.  Teetering on the edge of his own musings; he plunges, only to rise in deliberation of it all.

Eaten to pieces by his trite, boisterous dialogue and coaxing stories from his own counterfeit scenery, he tires of all the trash he swallowed whole, now deep within his words.

Having scraped this loathsome, inelegance before, he bites the crooked nail, where flesh and contrived doctrines always sell infinite copies.

We are but ceramic-faced drifters nonetheless, alive across our empty pages where mind will supply whatever is missing.




You can visit other magpie tales here.

15 comments:

ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

That's very good, Karen.

Looks like he better sleep with the windows shut!
~

Karen S. said...

Thunder, excellent idea! Maybe he caught a dose of some sleeping potion!

Kutamun said...

The ceramic faced drifter has charged this with raw power !
Good one mate ....

Karen S. said...

Kutamun- Thank you for stopping by, I appreciate (value) your comment! As a not so often, sharer of my poetry, it's so important for feed back!

Bekkie Sanchez said...

OMG that was so good! Put away your self-doubt for this week Karen! (I am speaking from experience.) Lol!

Your words were like sharp little knives cutting away at the extra and exposing the greatness within.

Helen said...

'ceramic faced drifters' ... Perfect description of poets' angst.

Poet Laundry said...

Yes, authentic seems so much better than "contrived"!

Jenny Woolf said...

That picture of the poet reminds me of Chagall, but without the beautiful colours. Chagall was into poets, wasn't he!

Jinksy said...

Empty pages were made for a poet to fill - with whatever his mind cooks up! You had some recipe here...

Tess Kincaid said...

I know those gargled thoughts...well done...

Jerry E Beuterbaugh said...

MOST EXCELLENT!

Ginny Brannan said...

"Eaten to pieces by his trite, boisterous dialogue and coaxing stories from his own counterfeit scenery, he tires of all the trash he swallowed whole, now deep within his words."

This is the line I could relate to most.To determine the "trash" is the toughest, especially when trying to play fair. Everyone has their own unique style. Some are just starting to feel their way into writing. And me, sometimes I feel like I hit a home run, and others like I'm out in left field without a glove!! You've captured something here we can all relate to.

Ginny Brannan said...

"Eaten to pieces by his trite, boisterous dialogue and coaxing stories from his own counterfeit scenery, he tires of all the trash he swallowed whole, now deep within his words."

This is the line I could relate to most.To determine the "trash" is the toughest, especially when trying to play fair. Everyone has their own unique style. Some are just starting to feel their way into writing. And me, sometimes I feel like I hit a home run, and others like I'm out in left field without a glove!! You've captured something here we can all relate to.

Ginny Brannan said...

Oops, looks to have double posted, don't know why, please delete one. Sorry...

The Blog of Bee said...

So many thoughts go through the mind of the writer. A brilliant take on the prompt.