there are still bodies
buried, beyond the leafy periphery
topics on which I haven’t written
dark and hideous wart-skinned things
bludgeoned and bloodied, but undead
and I daren’t disturb the moist soil
under which they restlessly writhe
because on the fool’s day that I do so
all the poems will have been written
and there’s nothing
more pitiful than a poet
who’s nothing at all
left
to say
this grabs my attention immediately. all of the writhing, disgusting creatures remind me of the ugly black snake in “restless.” i find eroticism in both poems (could just be me!) which is linked to disturbing images.
I hadn’t intended that, not consciously anyway.. but who knows? I won’t pretend to. I was on a ‘worm’ kick a while back. There were worms on many of the poems. Lol 🙂 Thanks again. I hope your day is wonderful.
Judging from this poem, I’d say you will never use all your words up. I’m guessing that you’re someone who could write a poem about a spent match if you wished.
Thank you, and thank you for the laugh. The comment was amusing 🙂 I suppose it depends on what the match had done to me.. tho to be fair, I did write a piece about a fan once. The fan hadn’t harmed me in any perceptible way.
I like to write poems about insignificant possessions – I wrote a poem about a lost sock a few weeks ago, and the following day I wrote another one about the return of the prodigal sock. I may have a go at writing a poem about a spent match…
I like that! Poetry can be so ponderous, and I fear for mine sometimes in that regard. I’ll look for your sock (poem), and I’ll see if I can find the poem about the the poor unsuspecting fan that didn’t consent to being part of a bad poem 🙂