anaesthesia
vagabond
winds with
fingers dipped
in newsprint and nerve-
endings massage
sunlight into
skin and cortex, injecting
overdrive analgesic
with an 18-gauge
straight through
hippocampal
hang-ups
to the core of
my soul,
a morphine drip
of wireless silence
leaving
me with the
sweet-ish
feel of
a spring
morning’s
blissful nothings
unplugged from
the lower back
pain
of a world
on its edge.



When I read this, I was instantly transported to a sunny place, quiet…Thanks for writing!
May 3, 2011 at 3:26 pm
love the vagabond winds and a the morphine drip of wireless silence..
dazed and intoxicated by spring….nice…
May 3, 2011 at 6:13 pm
great imagery.. could see it all as I read. nice piece
May 3, 2011 at 6:15 pm
vivid and intense….lots of angst imagery and a bit of spring…from the lower back pain of course..smiles.
May 3, 2011 at 8:07 pm
I felt the pain. I felt the relief. A visceral, compelling write.
May 3, 2011 at 9:42 pm
This is pain and the ethereal numbness all in one. “Fingers dipped in newsprint and nerve…” the strongest line. Astonishing! Thank you so much for visiting my blog, because now I know your work.
Peace, Amy
A little morsel:
http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/05/04/road-asides/
May 4, 2011 at 12:31 am
Also, just read your bio and saw the lovely props you give your mother. My mom and grandmother were both inspirations – seems like sirens are in the bloodline, huh? Amy
May 4, 2011 at 12:32 am
Amy– definitely.
May 4, 2011 at 3:51 pm
i liked your presentation..sharing it at my fb wall
May 4, 2011 at 5:24 am
shreya,
thanks so much for stopping by, and for the share! nice to meet you!
–jsl
May 4, 2011 at 3:49 pm
They held her down
Moaning then screaming
She wanted out
But no Saviors arrived
She begged for mercy
She cussed the world
For its meanness
She hated the smells
And the bright lights
And feeling abandoned
Waves of despair
Washed over her
“I don’t want to be here”
“This is too much”
“Let me go…please”
Then another wave hit
Threatening
To crush the tin can
Of her soul
A white clad woman
Stepped forward
To hold her hand
And said,
“Push now, push”
On the edge of pain
The world renews itself.
May 4, 2011 at 11:35 am
i would be happy
in a world of dogwoods
especially in the Spring
i love the way
the flowers offer themselves
swelling and laying open
to the teasing sun
breathily panting
“yes, yes, yes”
like a virgin
surrendering her labia
to passion
May 4, 2011 at 12:04 pm
Tiger,
I don’t know where to begin to say how blessed I feel for your sharing your thoughts here. The first piece had me in agony until the end, when I saw the whole in its encompassing perspective. And the second, well, …that was an entirely different form of agony, if you know what I mean…
. Thanks for sharing, my friend; your words are a gift as always.
Peace,
–jsl
May 4, 2011 at 3:56 pm
As one appreciate of opiates and the poetry they sometimes give me, as well as the pain relief, I really like this. xxxj
May 4, 2011 at 12:13 pm
Thanks, everyone, for all the kind comments (so far!) This was one of the little April poem-a-days that I went back and gave a little more thought to. (I didn’t make it through the whole month, by the way– sadly only about half way through
)
brian, Kim– I’m glad it came through as a little bit of both–the pain and the spring relief. Kinda what I’ve been feeling after a couple intense weeks of organizing events and simultaneously searching for creative energy to write!
Claudia– Thanks for stopping by– it’s always a pleasure to hear kind words from a poet such as yourself!
jenne–
they can indeed creatively inspire, or so i’m told… . Glad you liked.
Cindy, Anthony– Happy the visual imagery came through. Thanks for commenting.
Peace,
–jsl
May 4, 2011 at 4:08 pm
this is excellent, I particularly like the image of the lower back pain of the world and how spring can unplug us from that
May 11, 2011 at 2:22 pm
You seem to have a special bond with words and expressions. At first strange the read looks like, but then when I read it second time there’s beauty, even in those vagabond winds!
May 14, 2011 at 12:51 am