Poems, poems, poems, or:

EPIGRAPH:

In the end, we’ll all become stories.

Margaret Atwood (b. 1939)

my every verse my every line my every 
word: death is only the beginning of countless 
stories; life, reality's only 

limitation, albeit a foggy one, but 
death, a veritable wellspring of stories to tell around the table 
impart to our children to fool ourselves 

into believing; the perfect beginning to everything, both for 
and to everything; and I suffer simply
simply because I simply cannot 

accept the beginning of endless possibility, 
because I contribute with my every verse my 
every line my every word: I write poems poems poems

poems poems poems poems poems poems
poems poems poems poems poems without ink 
because the blood is dry

d’Verse Poetics prompt

“From a place of pain”

At d’Verse, we were prompted to write poems that originate ‘from a place of pain and/or suffering,’ examining how they can transform us in some way for the better. These moments give depth, resonance and authenticity to our art.

This challenge should be a kind of therapeutic exercise. It is not intended to open any old wounds that are too painful to approach. Let’s always keep in mind Wordsworth’s definition of poetry as ’emotion recollected in tranquility.’ Rather, if you are able to, you should revisit a time in your life when you have felt pain (emotional or physical, acute or chronic) and come out on the other side stronger.

Let’s examine the personal and artistic growth which can be achieved by finding the silver lining behind the cloud of suffering.

62 thoughts on “Poems, poems, poems, or:”

  1. David,
    Reflective and visceral. The repetition of “poems” underscores the cathartic effect of art, a therapy and a tool, that both heals and exposes.
    pax,
    dora

  2. I too was struck by the wonderful use of enjambment – it really does highlight the words. And the use of repetition only reinforces your intent: everything, simply, every, poems!! Magical!

  3. “poems without ink
    because the blood is dry…”

    …and sometimes, to me at least, it feels as though we use our own broken bones as a stylus to scratch our words into the sand…

    Beautiful work, as always, David. This one will stick with me for a while. 🙂

      1. I don’t think that’s possible right now. It never goes away, and we all find different ways to live with it. This is what you need at this time.

  4. A trillion trillion galaxies, and our little lives shine out into the infinite vastness, for we are co-creators of the universe, we are participants in several dimensions, we are raw energy that undergoes change but never is destroyed, and for the devout and the spiritual, and even the skeptics, the doubters, death is a doorway, used often, and barely measurable in the great schemes of things. Don’t get me started, brother.

  5. This is so very evocative in its depiction of pain, loss (and perhaps the aftermath of coping with death) the use of repetition at the end delivers a powerful punch. Kudos! 💝

  6. Wonderful, David! I love your use of enjambment to create a continuous flow of a poem which is pondering the finality of death, or a new beginning. I really enjoyed this poem 🙂

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