Old Photo of Patricia; & SOMETHING OTHER (non-dream free verse poem) by Roswila

SOMETHING OTHER

even decades ago, when she sat, eyes shut, warming under
the sun, even then when she was that much younger, she was
trying to burn something off, almost always a hangover;
in the later years, food bingeing replaced those attempts
with drink to control the accreted layers of asphyxiating
emotions; but now, just as back then, it is and was about
so much more than any one excuse for a binge; they
imprisoned her early, wrapped her ‘round, again and
again, with pain and trauma, and by who or what, she barely
knows anymore, if she ever did; all the stories she’d been
handed or told herself about her tangle of shrouds bleed
now into each other liked a drowned water color portrait
she keeps trying to restore; but today she forgoes habitual
navel gazing, quits fussing at what never loosens up
or offers any clarity, and gets back to this pleasant
and lazy attempt to allow a burning off under
the autumnal sun; content, for once, to be
focused on something other than
the smothering cacophony within


[non-dream free verse poem written 11-10-19. Meh! I like some of the images but it doesn’t really work. It’s that confessional aspect, I suppose, that I’m not liking. So much of my work, of course, is in that vein. ("Confessional poetry" is looked down on in some writing circles. But just think. e.g.: Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. Not that I would compare anything I've ever written to any of theirs.) In fact, I’d originally cast this in the first person, but liked that even less. It also smacks of self-pity. Yeah, but ain’t that the truth of it? I’m tired of being told (either outright or in some manipulative way) to “buck up.” And I complain hardly at all to other folk. Imagine if I did: they'd probably muzzle me. BWG [big wry grin]… I just had an image of a buck, leaping up, over and over, smashing against the walls of its prison cell. Only so much of that I’m willing to tolerate. I.e., I feel bloodied after a day of “bucking up.” For me, “bucking up” is just another name for denial. Yikes! Should I even post all this. What the hell, I’ve probably posted worse over the years here. And (self-pity alert!) who reads this blog anyway. PHOTO above: me in my teens, recovering from a hangover at a lakeside in the sun; my hair looks darker than it was, before it went all white (many, many years ago) it was a natural mix of dark blonde and light brown, that was readily bleached lighter by regular sun exposure (and eventually by me).

PLEASE NOTE: in most browsers you can click on the above image for a larger version. Also, the photo accompanying a post is not necessarily meant to illustrate it, but to reflect some small, even slant or contrasting aspect of the verse, similar to Japanese haiga (illustrated haiku).

There are many other sorts of posts on this blog. I indicate which are about or influenced by dreams. Some non dream focused posts are book reviews, "regular" poems (some by other writers), scifaiku, writing exercises, Tarot haiku, photos, haiga, and so on. However, most of those are in much older posts. There's a listing by month going back to early 2006, at the end of the sidebar.

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until next time, keep dreaming,





[a/k/a Patricia Kelly]
**** If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”). Roswila's other blog (dedicated to her photos only, i.e. no poetry or other writing; daily post); TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT.