I'm so tired ... I'm dying to start writing normal posts again. I've got ideas swishing round in my head and no time to draft them! How about you? Are you feeling the challenge a little like a sore muscle?
Don't get me wrong. This is a wonderful challenge, and Arlee Bird a wonderful bloke. I'm not putting the challenge down at all. I'm putting myself down for feeling overwhelmed and out of control. I'm so close to taking the last week of the challenge off and not completing it. But I will push through. Even if my posts are a little shorter than usual or I copy and past already existing work into here. *wipes brow*
I also want to apologize for not being much of a commenter. This month has been crazy busy for me and I'm putting my spare time into WRITING these things as it is. I hope you understand and don't think I'm being a lazy fart. I also usually reply to comments individually by email, but again I, Just. Can't. So please accept my humble apologies and have a wonderful Easter!!!
If you are new to this blog please read the note in the header above this post so you know what to do! Thanks!
So here's today's entry. PS: this poem is one of the poems in my forthcoming poetry collection TWISTED VELVET CHAINS (this is a Goodreads link, would love if you added it to your TBR list! :o)
Gothic Neanderthal
I listen
Will it ever end?
Her gentle, velvety voice
mimicking childish sobs
amidst animal grunts
Head under pillow
Camping in Africa
on a space ship in Galactica;
an unseen witness to murder
in an abandoned
graffiti-coloured crime district
I cradle my teddy bear,
close to my chest,
covered head to toe
in my feathery nest.
I stroke it
whisper
You’re not alone
I’m here. Shh, don’t cry
Fingers in ears
so hard
it hurts
to avert
my ache—her cries—his
screeching—the insufferable thunderous thump
through thin floor
I climb out of bed,
creep down the hall,
peer through the crack
of the kitchen door.
Grey netting hangs
from naked papery breasts,
dark purple tulle
fastened round her waist
black smudges
smeared ’cross her face.
patterned like lace
wet stringy hair
sticks
to her brow
her neck
wet cotton
sweat
toxic breath
menstruation blood
the onion soup we ate for lunch—
I dry-wretch
It stops—silence
Her arms hover in the air.
Twisted grace, fit for a coffin
Did it die?
No.
Daddy strokes her like the cat
she nods—
whispers and purrs
Behind her come chants
Push, push! Push, push!
It begins again;
She screams—
note shrill against the beat
droning voices of back-up men
Gothic Neanderthal giving birth
Giving life
To song
So, can you guess the emotion/feeling/state of mind (a noun) depicted in this piece that begins with the letter ‘T’? Please nip over to Nicole's blog to read her interpretation of our T-prompt word. Here’s the link!
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