How Do I Get There?

[Delta40]

Tell me stranger,
where do I go from here?
There is no cake to be had after all
and my fingers curl with age, with rage.
The letters we write as children
asking God if our dead pet is in heaven
are desecrated like kitty litter.
Memory lane is filled with potholes
and I don't want to twist my ankles anymore.
I passively utter sorry every time
somone bumps into me during rush hour.
Where can I find the ATM for pay back?
I got a wage packet of revenge for what
should never had happened but did.
This roundabout has taken me nowhere
and now I throttle my life unlived.
I shake it just like that rotting pet.
It's limbs dangle from putrid sinew.
So tell me stranger, where to now?
Perhaps it is better to take the long way round.
Will it make a difference if I turn right at the lights?

[Hawkman]

Blowed if I know, Delta. I've got the same problem :D

Best, H

[deryk]

I love how this poem questions the Superego. The passive "sorry" was an excellent "wool out of the eyes" moment. "Outdated map" made me smile. It's still reverent but very real. I like that.

[Delta40]

A 'Saturday already and I gotta work' effort

[Jerrybaldy]

Why oh why oh why was what I felt. If it was visual a car would pass and splash your white blouse with muddy water. A cry for help like pissing in the wind and I did of course love it. The bastards are, after all, out to get us. Think you could end a line earlier.

[Delta40]

This is my best ever poem
Ok, maybe not
but someone is bound to tap their feet
and slap a table top in iambic disgust.
Ever wonder why I'm flopping?
Ha! Aren't you looking for shape and form
belting out like some autistic kid facing a wall
meter, meter, meter
as if it was the norm?
But my buckle has burst
and I stand in a puddle of guts.
This pounds n' kilo poet goes
Kathump, kathump, diddley ump.
Christ there goes my back
and now a knee
Look what you did to me!
Is there where I pop in a 'woe is me?'
This really is the best you will get
An ounce of flabber a pinch of flobber
framed in a wiggley wobble verse
and if you're lucky,
saucepan lids will clash in time
as I churn out a blubber filled curse.

[IceM]

The image of a "ATM for payback" for "what / never should have happened but did" elicited the image of someone shocked at losing their job in this economic state. Perhaps not your intention, but that image is so compelling that I cannot avoid that reading.

Your second poem, a mockery of those intending to find formalized aspects in poetry, and therefore define its genius for including such devices, worked well. I enjoyed the reference to the autistic cries for "meter," even if my amazement of that image led me to immediate guilt.

[MystyrMystyry]

Two in one day!

I like the first, it shouts through cupped hands to my morning self about what I can get away with neglecting until tomorrow, or for all time

And the second a beauty - I've been there recently, and it's not a completely nice place only to visit - home again now though, thank the Fates

[kittypaws]

Delta you teach me sooo much. honest...no BS.

I didn't see the shape and form what i saw was that you lost your cat...silly huh?

Anyways....its me!



kittypaws

[kittypaws]

And if by chance
you lost your cat
then I shall tip my hat
and offer my sorrows
and extend my hand
lets go play around
in cat land!

Hugz~~~~~~~~~~~~~kittypaws

[Delta40]

lol. thanks for you kind thoughts Kitty. Both my cats are rubbing against my leg as I type!

[Delta40]

Here it is, dwelling in a small corner
where nobody is willing to look.
Victimization on a Saturday night
Disco dances of self-reproach.
Please, anyone care to remind me?
What am I doing in this part of the mind again?
Crocheting strands of flawed logic.
A control freak scoffing down water crackers.
Boxes and boxes.
Twelve to a shelf.
Mind you open this side up.
Hey little girl, wanna see what comes out this end?
Now that I think about wombles, you lied to me.
Holes in the system of family love.
Rapture, fear, shame.

I sing to Abba as if it will make you happy.
Flashbacks through your kodak instamatic.
Yellowed snapshots, intrusive memories, desperate longing.
Sceptic tanks overflow whenever I let go.
Chequered board, checked love.
King takes pawn in the middle of the night.
I miss the smell of your aftershave.
No I don't.
Disgusting and repulsive child.
Are you still alone in that hall on your knees?
Stay buried within me and keep quiet
while I reconcile the facts.
I actually enjoyed it sometimes.
Yes, you heard me right.
Now the hands of my emotional deprivation
need chopping off just in case!
I can't love you. Yes, I do.

Is this it then? Are you serious?
My child voice is still on mute.
Smother all innocent life from here on in.
Draw the truth with crayons for God's sake!
Pour your heart out like kibble
into dog bowls of sexual dysfunction.
Blinded by the dimly lit hospital room,
my babies fall a short distance from our tree
to become festering clusters of violations.
We cram battered trunks of family secrets
underneath the next bed.
Nobody needs to know I was here.
Or that you were.
Dark corners curdle breast milk into sperm.
Even now, I gently nurse this secret.

[MystyrMystyry]

Knock out!

[Delta40]

Thanks MM

[Jerrybaldy]

Why did you not post that on a new thread? I felt I was reading a diary of personal thoughts I could only have accessed without permission. You questioned recently, on one of my postings, the link between poets state of mind and the poem. I dont think you would write this wearing a smile.

[Delta40]

I suppose it seemed appropriate to post it in the corner of a used thread...

[Delta40]

The shower rose head
steams the chalky grout
till filmy blobs of mildew
flourish on the ceramic.
Rusty disposable razors endure
another session of then and now
while cloudy swirls of soap scum
slosh loose dried hair
stuck on a rubber duck.
She scrubs the bath and his beak
with the same toothbrush.
Urine based conditioner
cleanses then kills.
She foams up under powerful jets
of love and hate.
Hot and cold.
Night and day.
The present gurgles into the past
and down the plug hole.

[MystyrMystyry]

I hope this isn't autobiographical Delta - or psychological!