Resurface
A Memo to Writers Robert Frost, Adrienne Riche and J.D. Salinger

And I dove...
Like so many writers before,
Into the abysmal wreckage where time is held by
the frozen ropes of bliss and suffering,
I walk a sad tight rope act,
Through myself and outward,
Back again trying to slowly trip my way...
Into transcendence...Nirvana...Valhalla...
Heaven....
To be reborn as a spiritual machine
chasing perfection...

I swim away from the surface,
Forty leagues into a motherless chasm
where in every hollow cave there is a pale shadow
of my former self.
The deeper I go the more vulnerable I become
The volcanic embers at the bottom, filled with 21 years
of nothing but failures, have erupted and filled my lungs,
A mind poison by self deception and deprivation
All for nothing...

Riche explored her wreckage,
and found a place where god was nothing more
than a hollow reflection no more knowledgeable than she,
And memories were nothing more than phantom words,
That may or may not have ever existed in realtime...
Like peaking into the window of a lost Atlantis
A vision is just not proof enough!
You must touch, taste and feel that state of being,
Or be left forever to question whether it really existed,
Forever connected to the pale illusion of that passing cloud
that dissolved ever so gently in the wind...
Where love is reincarnated into the form
of an eternal wreckage, forever to be explored

I, unlike others, rejected this wreck,
Left temporarily insane trying to assassinate the boy
left hiding alone in the distance
The boy, that after 21 years of being
stranded in a barrel of empty wishes,
Drunk, afraid and alone in a city where loneliness
comes in the shape of a thousand boot heels,
That boy has still failed to grow old..
A weary Holden Caufield,
jaded by a brief lifetime of insignificance
rejecting heaven... rejecting life... rejecting death
Left for dead on the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue,
While the parade of monophobic fools pass him by
and spill into the street.


But through emptiness, I find myself
Back at this this wreckage that poses to be
a mirror into my soul,
However there is a resurgence that enters
the sinews of my body and spirit,
In this kingdom where way leads onto way.
Two adjacent country roads perish in sardonic irony
by the sleepy snows of this november night.
transforming into sunken bodies of desert spaces
And I am here, alone, breathing in the cosmic dust
an imploded star. resurfacing back to and from the wreckage...
And with a pen and paper in my pocket,
And wanderlust in my eyes,
I am left to make the cold blooded stumble
back to myself...

why is it a memo to those writers?

is this your work?


Its very beautiful and colourful and paints me an intense picture

'breathing in the cosmic dust
an imploded star. '

- brilliant.

A dark brooding introspection, but introspection nonetheless...
however, there seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dim.

"You must touch, taste and feel that state of being,
Or be left forever to question whether it really existed"
- therein lies truth...I like it...

Classic EW poetry....beautiful in it's dark way and full of meaning...

Welcome back....that is, if you're really back...

So many memorable lines in this poem.

syble said:

The poem kinda revisits the theme of Adrienne Riche's "Diving Into The Wreck,"
It's more philosophical, I suppose, and tailored to my point of view.
poems is about revisiting the past, past decision, perhaps that have influenced your present state. I call it the Kingdom where way leads onto way, which alludes to Frost's The Road Not Taken,And I use the imagery of being reborn as a real Holden Caufield...
Caufields a jade Clockwork orange like antihero, from Salingers Catcher in the Rye, who's mischievous and misguided nature is because of wreck of a past...
Someone so simple, yet so complex...
so the work itself is kind of anti-ode, more like a warning to those authors and their fans/followers
sometimes diving in the wreck is a fallen advneture, and that the road taken and not taken are one and the same. Though we are carved from our past, become jaded and sever from ourselves, we can stop and come back together. Not by analyzing the wreck mind you, rather just by thinking of it as only a wreck, a dismal point in your life, and let it dance out your soul like a morning theft.
Cause everything will always be the same.

"the cats across the roof, mad in love, scream into the drain pipes, bringing' in the sounds of music, the only music, an' it is I who is ready, ready t' listen, restin' restin' a silver peace reigns an'becomes the nerves of mornin'
an' I stand up an' yawn hot with jumpin' pulse
never tired
never sad
never guilty
for I am runnin' in a fair race
with no racetrack but the night
an' no competition but the dawn" Bob Dylan

don't mind me I'm a morbid fucker but yeah

and obsessed, I might be back ... it's been a long year
might have some stuff to share

And thnx for the kind words tony, nice to see your still around

EmbattledWarrior said:

Yup, it has been a long year.