Put It All Down - A Place for Your Feelings

[Moonchime]

Ah yes Dee - I'm glad you mentioned that because I found that really interesting - how something Peggy used originally with a different intention turned out so well - although I did puzzle over the violin clef and wondered at my lack of knowledge and violins
I looked it up on google and that didn't work at all!!!!

The monkey wrench just had such a comical, practical appearance that my images of Peggy were in awe of the DIY skills she might have!!!
So Peggy I'm pleased to have been let into the secret - it was wonderful to have it explained.

I tried to include more in my original response but for some reason the software was not playing ball and I wasted ages just trying to add that short message above - every time I put it in the preview excluded it!!!!

[Dee]

I feel your pain, Cupcake. Technology can be soooooo frustrating.

[Dee]

I think I wanted to write this a very long time, but this exercise has given me the final push.

All In The Corner

a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders
trudged through the empty house in his dirty boots
and let his crossbow slip down to the floor
with another day done

he dropped his jacket, his knives and
his guard for a moment
and his fingers combed through
the dog’s wiry fur

he undid his belt and let it fall in the heap
with his vest he wore a hundred years
an angel wing that still hung on
(the other long gone)

he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it in the pile
along with his sorrow for all that was lost
and all he thought
he could never be

he let the marks of the forest trickle to the ground
the mud, the blood of the deer
his demon tattoos lay scattered
tangled with screams he still heard in his dreams

all in the corner in a resigned heap finally he shed
his violent scars of this hostile world
and his skin that was never caressed
wrapped now in nothing
but his silent craving to be loved

[Lori]

I'm a little behind. (I'm a little ass.) No, I'm a little late to return to this thread due to life so forgive any redundancy if you all have moved on.

I love this piece so very much, Agi. I tumble into whatever you write, but this was so visual and dear!

Echoes


what hides inside these walls i wonder
besides the solid bricks and mortar
the plaster and the layers of
paint for all those happy-fresh starts

Immediately loving this concept and question!

have they absorbed our children’s raucous laughter
the hugs and kisses and the bedtime routines
does pingu live in there
does harry potter

This was a sweet combination of participatory joy and simultaneous loss - these sweet trappings of childhood echoing themselves away...and the characters that walked beside them still lingering on.

will the endless board game scores stay
etched into these observant walls
is there an art gallery inside
are poems scattered on the floor

So much love and expression - I want to see these items...

do these bricks resonate with all our music
the piano and the smooth jazz saxophone
the cheerful jigs from a tiny little fiddle
the relentless beat of the african drums

is there a jukebox tucked in there
with echoes of our eclectic tunes
will the obligatory carpenters
continue to play on every christmas eve
when we’re no longer here

They will and they must. I love the beautiful musical cacophony of a family replete with smooth jazz and this unique and fun tradition.

will the walking dead roam confined inside forever
do vampires lay there trapped behind the walls
will stuart lee ever find his sodding way out
do the walls feel eternally cursed
‘cause you know
“everybody heard about the bird”

So funny! Of course we heard about the bird...excellent images and references. I feel I must buy your home now to absorb these trapped attributes.

will they crave the scent of our famous apple crumble
the fish curries and late night pancake parties
will those be missed
will the walls wonder where we are

I love the life you have breathed into these happenings and images as though they actually reciprocate and will mourn this burgeoning family's absence.

do they hold onto our dreams
like movies on repeat
will they keep our secrets
recall our best jokes
remember our voices
the tears of the darker days

Ah me. I love this section. There is and has been expansive existence within these walls with meaningful and densely woven living.

i run my fingers through these walls
i lay my head against them
and listen for us
i wonder what we will leave behind

Gulp. The ending is beautiful. "i lay my head against them and listen for us" This is poignantly melancholy and worded with sheer perfection.

I truly loved the trip through the past with the flavors, smells, talents, joys, laughter, sorrow - all baked into these walls that sheltered through it all and saw so much unfolding. The beauty of it is, if indeed all of this reverberates within the bricks and mortar, it still will always travel with you - on your skin, through your bones, within your heart... "Us" is an ever-living fluid entity - nearly touchable. This is where your writing took me. Love-love!

[Lori]

I consider the below "poem" not a real poem just a poetic excerise for the SHE PUT project and a practise of writing. For me the concept that I came up with was more important than to carefully choose and detail the things that she put... So:

SOMEWHERE

she put the car key, the monkey wrench and the violin clef
into a basket.
she put the ripe peaches – the pride of her garden – in there too.
she put those long-haired girls and
the chestnut that she picked for her dog to play with.
She poured into the basket the smell of the rain
and those vivid shades of green and
the hissing sound of tyres on wet pavement.
Into the basket she put the gnawning uneasiness of the distance
that slinked in between her and a friend
and the taste of the wind (that blows
the long hair of those beautiful girls),
the grey monolith of her tiredness
and finally she chucked his constantly beeping
smartphone in there too.

Really strong imagery - I think you had me at "she put those long-haired girls" and the "smell of rain" and "vivid greens"....just lovely. I love the tangible and emotional melding together side by side, with the wind hearkening back to the beautiful girls. The gray monolith is so descriptive.

so she became light like a balloon
and happily flew up high,
somewhere,
over the rainbow.
(and she carefully folded its colours into the basket too).

but then she had a funny feeling…

so with a hook she fished the chestnut out of the basket
and put it back in her pocket. and the peaches. and the tyres.
and so she did with the car key, the monkey wrench and the violin clef.
she reached for the wind and the rain, for the shades of green
and for those long haired girls and tucked them all back into her pocket.
she pulled out of the basket the colours of the rainbow
and even the gnawing distance and the smartphone,
and squeezed them into her buldging pocket.
but she did not find her tiredness.

and so she landed with a smile and smoothly touched the ground.

I love the metamorphosis that occurs here. Having seen only a few of your pieces, I wonder if this is a recurring theme for you. If so, it is a wonderful thread running throughout and you depict it so well. I love the colours of the rainbow being carefully preserved and what I would define as internalized. I find myself wishing this could be an illustrated "short" film - we have a section in PH Harbour here with a lot of those. I can see a talented artist playing with the many skillfully-crafted visuals. Very enjoyable, Mz. P!

[Lori]

I think I wanted to write this a very long time, but this exercise has given me the final push.

All In The Corner

a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders
trudged through the empty house in his dirty boots
and let his crossbow slip down to the floor
with another day done

he dropped his jacket, his knives and
his guard for a moment
and his fingers combed through
the dog’s wiry fur

he undid his belt and let it fall in the heap
with his vest he wore a hundred years
the angel wing that still hung on
and the other long gone

he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it in the pile
along with his sorrow for all that was lost
and all he thought
he could never be

he let the marks of the forest trickle to the ground
the mud, the blood of the deer
his demon tattoos lay scattered
tangled with screams he still heard in his dreams

all in the corner in a resigned heap finally he shed
his violent scars of this hostile world
and his skin that was never caressed
wrapped now in nothing
but his silent craving to be loved

Oof. My dear, what to say? I know this man and, with your words, watched him go through this lonely shedding. I felt nearly floating above him (perhaps beside you) like the guardians we have been. It is beautifully sad in totality. To read it while understanding the context is incredible and then to read again with an attempt to erase context was as stunning or perhaps even more so.

My favorite descriptive moment is:

he let the marks of the forest trickle to the ground

That this man would need to drop his guard to pet a dog - also so telling. The single wing with its other half long gone. Part of the weight on his shoulders - who he could not be, which is basically "enough". He could not be enough to be a carte blanche savior so became a receptacle of self-blame. But his better angels know, well...better!

The ending is so vulnerable it hurts. This was my favorite emotional moment.

his skin that was never caressed
wrapped now in nothing
but his silent craving to be loved

I loved and understood it all. Beautiful tribute, PIC.

[Dee]

My dear Lori, thank you so much for your lovely reaction to my latest offerings in this thread. It really is so immensely satisfying and heartwarming when someone not only gets your writing but really savours it. It’s everything, really.

You know me (and Daryl) too well. It’s interesting to hear that the poem might actually work without prior knowledge of the character and a particular scene that nearly broke my heart a few month ago. Will see what Moonchime and Peggy make of it?

This task is a really brilliant exercise in character building. I love it. I imagine I’ll keep coming back to doing some more.

You feel like having a go, Mz Lori?

[Moonchime]

In The Corner

a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders
trudged through the empty house in his dirty boots
and let his crossbow slip down to the floor
with another day done

he dropped his jacket, his knives and
his guard for a moment
and his fingers combed through
the dog’s wiry fur

I love the way you instantly give a sense of weariness with the image of the weight of the world on this man's shoulders - and no I don't know the context but guessed there had to be one from your introductory sentence and then from the crossbow.

You have introduce the concrete objects like the jacket and knives and then add the abstract "his guard" which adds a feeling of fear and apprehension. But then comes the surprise - the contrast of this weighed down man (both literal and figurative) affording himself a moment of affection with his dog.

he undid his belt and let it fall in the heap
with his vest he wore a hundred years
the angel wing that still hung on
and the other long gone

Now this is where I suspect the context may solve a puzzle and that is the vest that he has worn for so long with one angel wing still on. From my perspective with "new" eyes, he has been fighting for a long time and fighting a cause which started with him being on the side of good, wanting to do what was right, holding firm to ideals and hopes; Someone others would look up to and feel protected by - like an angel.

However the battle has taken its toll and he is no longer able to claim that everything he did was as he would wish it to be. He has been worn down by the reality of war and is tainted by the evil that men do. His world has become one of shades of grey. He is weary. He has lost something of the person he once was.
The image of the angel wing is brilliant and the fact that one remains while the other has long since gone adds real power.

he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it in the pile
along with his sorrow for all that was lost
and all he thought he could never be

he let the marks of the forest trickle to the ground
the mud, the blood of the deer
his demon tattoos lay scattered
tangled with screams he still heard in his dreams

all in the corner in a resigned heap finally he shed
his violent scars of this hostile world
and his skin that was never caressed
wrapped now in nothing
but his silent craving to be loved

These verses add more vivid images to the darkness of this man's soul. we have the mud and blood trickling to the ground - which conjures up a slowness but then we're projected into the stuff of nightmares with the tattoos and screams of scenes he cannot forget; maybe of sins unforgiven.
Then we have the tremendously visceral final verse where he sheds his skin, his scars (of which the greatest are mental) and stands (or dies) with only the most basic of human desires exposed - with nothing left to protect him or distract him from that need.

Wonderfully powerful writing Dee. I feel quite shaken. I wonder if I got anything as it was supposed to be. Either way it can stand alone.

[Dee]

Now this is where I suspect the context may solve a puzzle and that is the vest that he has worn for so long with one angel wing still on. From my perspective with "new" eyes, he has been fighting for a long time and fighting a cause which started with him being on the side of good, wanting to do what was right, holding firm to ideals and hopes; Someone others would look up to and feel protected by - like an angel.

However the battle has taken its toll and he is no longer able to claim that everything he did was as he would wish it to be. He has been worn down by the reality of war and is tainted by the evil that men do. His world has become one of shades of grey. He is weary. He has lost something of the person he once was.
The image of the angel wing is brilliant and the fact that one remains while the other has long since gone adds real power.

Well, Kathy, you might as well have been watching The Walking Dead for the past ten years, as you’ve given such a perfect description of Daryl. He does in fact have a biker’s leather vest that used to have two angel wings on the back, then over the years one of them got torn off. You’ve unravelled its symbolism brilliantly. They’ve been fighting some dreadful groups of humans, and in trying to protect loved ones, at times horrible things were done and painful mistakes made, when their judgement was clouded by grief or fear, or loss of trust in any new people. Holding onto one’s humanity has been a major theme throughout the series and Daryl has had his fair share of struggles, and fared much better than most. He can be a brute of a man who would do anything to protect the people he cares about, yet he has a heart of gold. And yes, he’s been a guardian angel to many.

The funny twist with the lost angel wing is that he gets a replacement, from a dear little girl he’s been a loving “uncle” to, from the day she was born, when her mother died in childbirth and he went on a run to get formula milk for her to keep her alive. Here are two short clips to illustrate the above:





These verses add more vivid images to the darkness of this man's soul. we have the mud and blood trickling to the ground - which conjures up a slowness but then we're projected into the stuff of nightmares with the tattoos and screams of scenes he cannot forget; maybe of sins unforgiven.
Then we have the tremendously visceral final verse where he sheds his skin, his scars (of which the greatest are mental) and stands (or dies) with only the most basic of human desires exposed - with nothing left to protect him or distract him from that need.

Again, beautifully perceived and worded. With the exception of ‘sins unforgiven’. Daryl is not concerned with sins, - as far as he’s concerned, whatever you need to do to protect who you love is what you need to do. His only demons are the mistakes that lead to losing people. He blames himself for every loss.

His scars and tattoos are both literal and metaphorical. And you’ve put it so beautifully, shedding them, letting himself be distracted, is what he needs to do, to let in the love of a woman. And that might never happen.

Wonderfully powerful writing Dee. I feel quite shaken. I wonder if I got anything as it was supposed to be. Either way it can stand alone.

Thank you, Kathy, for this thoughtful review, and it means a lot to me that you’ve taken so much from this.

There was a particular scene that has inspired the poem, if you’re still curious about the context:

[Lori]

Sheep’s Clothing
S.L.

the lady walks in and leaves open the door
strews paper crane dreams and her babes on the floor
places stars in her eyes, blind faith in her head
“This is who I am.” she said

she unlatched the window and poured out these three:
protection, discernment, and culpability
no glance at the boneyard no prayer for the lost
“Some things, my dears, are worth any cost.”

she gathered the blankets from cradle and bed
and welcomed the wolf to step in and be fed
from bunting she wove a soft wondrous wool
“Another good work from my giving soul.”

she placed it o'er furred head and enfolded sharp jaw
o'er sly knowing eyes, she erased who he was
then gathered her babies and brushed their blond silk
for the guest now-made-docile she poured out some milk

sleep comes in waves unbeckoned it seems
and the lady succumbed to her paper crane dreams
where all fly so noble in pure symmetry
and nothing lies dormant belying her peace

morning dawns brilliant with scent of baked bread
the lady moves softly to waken the dead
no song of sweet voices no blue eyes no green
“How did this happen? Who did this vile thing?”

she ran through the village and burst through closed doors
she threw off their locks and set milk on their floors
“If only you cold souls had been kind as me
the wolf would not suffer and search for fresh meat!”

the lady walks in and leaves open the door
slides absently through the muck on the floor
boldly spilled wholly and starkly deep red
“This cannot be blood.” she said

she fashioned her white flag, her happy denial
and offered up somebody else for the trial
placed stars in her eyes, blind faith in her head
“This is who I am.” she said

[Moonchime]

Wow Mz Lori you may have taken a little time, but your writing is always worth the wait. I am full of wonder about so many things here and love the rhythm of the piece. It has a wonderful flow and I was instantly drawn into the story by such a determined yet wilfully "blind" character. What terrible happenings would she cause/witness?

the lady walks in and leaves open the door
strews paper crane dreams and her babes on the floor
places stars in her eyes, blind faith in her head
“This is who I am.” she said

she unlatched the window and poured out these three:
protection, discernment, and culpability
no glance at the boneyard no prayer for the lost
“Some things, my dears, are worth any cost.”

So the first verse sees her carelessly leaving the door open and "strewing" paper cranes (known for being a symbol of peace / hope and good fortune)over the floor, along with, horror of horrors, her very own babes. However she is set on a course that she will not veer from and in her stubborn determination and conviction (for what I wonder) she pours (interesting choice here) out everything that might help her make good choices - but it doesn't matter because she is not responsible. Furthermore all this is done without due thought for the cost of these actions.

she gathered the blankets from cradle and bed
and welcomed the wolf to step in and be fed
from bunting she wove a soft wondrous wool
“Another good work from my giving soul.

Then she proceeds to welcome the wolf into her home - praising herself for her virtue and making wool from bunting . Now where does this bunting come from? It suggest that she has festooned her house for celebration - as you might for a party or... political rally. Having fed the wolf and disguised its true nature in her eyes, she succumbs to
sleep full of wonderful dreams that do not allow for any disturbance beneath the perfect symmetry of the crane.

No sooner does she wake from her dreams (literal or figurative) than she realises that awful, horrible things have happened while her mind has been in a place of its own making and those things have happened right under her roof - on her watch. She rushes around blaming everyone else but herself. In fact she goes further than that, she creates a narrative where she is the virtuous one and it is the absence of her fine qualities in everyone else that has caused this disaster.
In the final verse she "surrenders" although still in denial, and sets up someone else as the scapegoat. We then get that almighty and wonderfully powerful repetition of the end of the first verse:

(she) placed stars in her eyes, blind faith in her head
“This is who I am.” she said

So who is the real wolf here dressed in sheep's clothing? There is the wolf that comes into the village whose nature (origianlly) is known and might be contained, but It is the woman who is the real threat, with her determination to do whatever she wishes without any reflection or real moral compass.

I am mesmerised by your inspiration for this piece Lori- ideas are whirling around my head like snowflakes. I don't know whether it's because our news is brimming over with the US election and we are totally immersed in it, but I can't help but see a parallel in a certain world leader and political events. Forgive me if I'm barking up the wrong tree but I really have enjoyed the ride and can't wait to hear more of where your idea started.

Whatever your muse - it is a wonderful poem and I love the rhyme. It is well worth reading aloud -something which I think I must remember to do with everyone's poems as it does add another dimension.
Thank you.

[Lori]

Lovely review, Mz. K! Thank you for it all. I love your perceptions and that you understand the connotation of paper cranes. I will await answering some questions for a few moments, but really love your thoughts!