I’d like to share a happy song Figure out what does go wrong Itching scalp from burning sun Seldom let myself have fun…
Want it real? Sushi raw? Lacerations from a jaded saw? I’d like to tell you how I feel Man up from clown Stand ground, appeal
Layers of an onion shed Nightmare turns away pretend The ceiling shows time’s twisted flow Adjusting eyes tune street lamp glow
These walls are bare As will, heartbeats Jugular, nose Breathe, repose This is what a writer chose As muffled echos ocean close Interstate drone Time alone Everything I wrote and own Spells drip catching studio skylight— Wings melt into a candle vigil and A life that works Perceived self-worth To walk this earth Past pain, main, rebirth Limbs coated with sweat My pride, hair, and dirt
__________________________________________________________ Care for a reading of A Life That Works?
listened to this whilst packing away my own baggage. A writers worth, now that’s something you could muse upon until the cows came home Adam. Felt this one tonight my friend, another raw nerve exposed by your excellent words
Adam…this is amazing! (broken record, I know!) Love how easily and almost angrily this was read. My version is frantic and fierce, with absolutely perfect time and rhythm. I can’t say I took it as a happy song…but I am so very glad I stopped by to have a listen. Now that’s I’ve put my two cents in, I’m going to have a listen
It is really good to see you posting again. I think I mentioned that last week, yet this weeks post really makes me feel it again. I always love listening to the spoken version, this piece is raw and determined in voice, I enjoy your poetry Adam. ~ Rose
Everything I wrote and own
Spells drip catching studio skylight—
Wings melt into a candle vigil and
A life that works” …when I was young, before I married i had thought this was the life I would have chosen…but I didn’t…then I became ill and even though early morning and late afternoon and evening are shared with my family…mostly I too spend my days meditating, photographing, writing and resting alone.
Well, Adam…you’ve done it again…forced me to read, and reread every line ( a pleasure by the way) to to sort out all the images you packed into this excellent verse. “A life that works”…that’s a pretty good outcome…no? vb
“…Lacerations from a jaded saw..” I can feel em. Age sits on your head and you start to wonder what is really going on here, where is it really going–all the questions you do man up to here, that take the hard sweat and grit to answer, to find what makes it work. Fine and fluid and real, my friend.
Sheila, I read your comment last night. Have thought about it this afternoon too. I am definitely way past my twenties and beginning to realize just how old I am. Such is life. My best to your husband as well. Science needs to discover the Fountain of Youth—STAT! lol
Really enjoyed this piece. Nice flow. Absolutely love repetition and the subtler the better. I love the way it can be read. you go from burning to laceration to nightmare. Images of, what is seen in the finale Pain, Pain, pain
I look at this train of thought & see mult angles of view is that a general devolution is taking place in terms of types of pain, but the poem ends with a topic, a broad category, just pain. All encompassing damaging pain, or is the vague sentiment of the overused word pain indicating a healing. Quite possible seeing it is sweat and not blood covering the skin. One final detail, sweat is the bodies natural defense for purging.
Really enjoyed the flow, rhythm and your mastery of complex rhyme in this piece, some great lines & images here, and I loved the ending starting from ‘wings melt into a candle vigil and a life that works ..that touched something…
Thanks Dustus, I’m loving the honesty in this write! This piece packs a punch and tells it like it is. AWESOME!
I’m also loving your support for everyone else and their work. This is a huge piece of an accomplished writer also. Thank you.
I loved your reading of the poem. Could feel the intensity behind the questioning. Does one’s life “work?” At certain points, I think we all ask ourselves that question. Some of us face it and some hide from it. Honest and raw poem.
I have been on my own since very young- quite unusual for my country and traditions here. I feel Solitude is my best fried. It has let me realize things those are often missed by others through their entire lifetime!
There are things that don’t match up with others often.. for how I am being fiercely independent.. but I love my life the way it is..
Adam, love the rhythm of this and your words are so real and raw, like a vein freshly cut and left to ooze blood. From the title alone, it feels like the speaker is determined to come out of depression — by wanting to share a happy song, by convincing himself that his can be a life that works. And yet it ends with pain, something we all want to get past but likely remnants of which we take to the grave.