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Poetry Magnum Opus

Stinking hands


JoelJosol
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There are places I dismembered,

cut into chunks of bleeding meat

falling off my hands. These hands

washed off the meat using gutter water

from some neglected alley

of my labyrinth of memories.

These are stinking wetlands, wet

with all the pieces no longer

making sense. I could not escape them,

unable to scrape them off the skin

of my skull. They rebuild anew,

forcing themselves up my throat

like a vomit, or nose like a puss.

 

Some places are parasites.

You kill them with your hands.

They are reborn still.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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Aleksandra

Joel very interesting poem here...

 

I love how this sounds:

 

But I could not escape these

memories, unable to scrape them off the skin

of my skull.

 

I like the visual effect on this poem, The second part as separate part sounds very deep and it gives a point of all poem

 

Very well done

 

Aleksandra

The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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goldenlangur

Hi JoelJosol,

 

Great use of physical details to suggest an inner turmoil. Your poem brought to mind these words of Lady Macbeth:

 

"Here’s the smell of the blood still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."

 

In a similar manner your consciousness seems to be steeped in "labyrinth of memories". Here a small niggle - do you need "complex" - labyrinth suggests this?

 

I particularly love these lines:

 

 

JoelJosol wrote:

 

There are places I dismembered,

... using gutter water

standing in some neglected narrow alley

of my complex labyrinth of memories.

These are stinking wetlands, wet

with all the pieces that no longer

make sense...

 

 

goldenlangur

goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Thanks for the catch, GL. You found it before my revision.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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The act of washing the meat with bare hands and "gutter water" amplifies the initial metaphor. I like this part:

These are stinking wetlands, wet

with all the pieces no longer

making sense

... and the last line immortalizes the demons, these "places," in a chilling way:

You kill them with your hands.

They are reborn still.

They are like vampires or werewolves that won't die!

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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