Blogging, or: Abraham

Once upon- 

            he cared- what they thought of him,
Wrenching- at him- soul and limb;
  Oh- how things changed;
And the days, of course, as they ran their course,
Only saw things go- from bad to worse;
  All became more estranged;
Then came a day- he was faced with death
(Though he wasn't there for love's last breath);
  Darkness- swallowed- his light;
'Safe' and 'simple' broke, something black awoke,
  Fingers- aching to write

All the prose he wrote- and the poetry,
Available to friends and family,
  provided- release;
He wrote long and short- and slow and fast,
Uncovered
            some of- his own truth at last;
  Mind and heart wouldn't cease;
Language took him- far away from grief,
Daily blown- and battered like a leaf,
  He kept at this, day and night;
How, he couldn't say; kept the tears away,
  Couldn't fake what he'd write

Rejecting tweets, soundbites and Instagram,
He welcomed
            meaning in- like Abraham
  Would invite his guests;
Arguing with God- about beliefs
Brought him
            no small amount of relief,
  He was granted some rest;
And there arose long buried memories;
Breaking past thin mental boundaries,
  Strange fancies took flight;
Down upon his knees, whispering- God please,
  Please- make it alright

Today, for d’Verse’s “Open Link Night”, I’d like to share a poem that I wrote about ½-a-year ago, only a couple months after creating this blog.

54 thoughts on “Blogging, or: Abraham”

      1. Honestly you are way braver than me. Way, way braver. I tried sharing with my family at first (before blogging, I used to write long group emails… literally decades ago…) but eventually I wanted a community with feedback… and I used a semi-pseudo to feel more free, because I was so blocked, creatively… and the poems I showed to my family as an adult were not well received… so I did it this way. But I think it was a necessary part of my process… things are always changing. Anyway, kudos… your heart is beautiful.

  1. Writing helps us discover ourselves and how to inhabit the world in which we find ourselves. This reminds me both of the process of living that is “Fiddler on the Roof”–arguing with God and persevering–and “Waiting for Godot””–I can’t go on, I must go on. And so we must. (K)

  2. I enjoyed the rhyming and wordplay in this poem, David, the sense of disjointedness in the opening stanza and the way it shifts and pivots on ‘something black awoke, / Fingers- aching to write’ and then the words begin to flow with only a few hyphenated hesitations. The release is tangible. I love the lines:
    ‘He wrote long and short- and slow and fast,
    Uncovered
    some of- his own truth at last;
    Mind and heart wouldn’t cease;
    Language took him- far away from grief,
    Daily blown- and battered like a leaf’.

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