This Was Not What I Meant To Say


What follows is not what I really meant to say.  I would have to say that most of my work isn’t what I meant to say it all.  It is what happened while I was trying to say something else.  When I sit down to write, there is this blazing vision, beautiful, perfect complete and wondrous.  The problem is, between this vision and its realization is my ability to articulate it, which is apparently somewhat less than the ability for a sparrow to articulate Shakespeare or a dog to articulate the laws of thermodynamics.  That’s not to say that what I wrote down is something I don’t end up being proud of, it’s just that it is forever to the side of what I wanted to talk about.  This piece is very much like that.  Anyway, I think that is enough introduction for now, I shall let the poem speak for itself.  It seemed to want to so very badly, standing at the back of my mind with it’s little hand raised and piping in a soft voice “oh, oh, oh, pick me, me I want to speak, oh please” and so i had to take pity on it, clean it up nice and put it in front of the class.

Sometimes, when I am all alone

I secretly go mad.

You think I’m joking but really

How else does one explain

Seeing whole worlds in the folds of  light

Between the dust motes

Or hear tress gossiping in twiggy rustlings?

 

 

There’s an ancient man in my attic

He knows, he snatches the leftover bits of dreams

Lays them out on the roof

To feed the birds

That’s how they fly

Ask him, he will show you how it’s done.

 

 

Or the girl who dances

On top of lamp posts

In her green frock coat and striped stockings

She could tell you, but of course

She wont

Because her wine dark lips

Are the promise

That you have to chase over the rooftops

In the rain.

 

 

Nonsense I hear you say, and you may be right

But who are you to say

That the cats don’t dance with the mice

When no one is looking

Or that they all know more

Than they’re letting on?

 

 

I can’t help it if angels

Sleep in my coat pockets

Or that mirrors hold worlds

That we are mere reflections of,

It’s just the way of things.

 

 

I try to spread it where I can

Letting loose little glamours

Seeds of my own little madness

Dripping from the lining of my coat

To twist and beguile

Splinters that pierce the eye and heart

Fragments of the bright and terrible

Burrowing in the ripe soil of all of you

(as I titter into my hand at the thought)

Subtly changing the picture just a little

Tilting the world so that others might want to tilt at windmills.

 

 

I want to leave wonder in my wake.

 

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6 Responses to “This Was Not What I Meant To Say”

  1. I’m going to have to go back and read the poem… but I had to comment on the introduction. It might not be what YOU wanted to say, but it very well captured something *I* have wanted to say for awhile, but couldn’t articulate.

    Thanks! 🙂

    • That is something I always hope I can accomplish, to maybe say something that will connect with someone else on some level, so thank you as well for letting me know that I did that for you 🙂

  2. mother2rah Says:

    Enjoyed reading this. Very vivid images remain in my mind.

  3. Wow. I love it.

  4. in being watched, the observed immediately changes
    avert the gaze ever so slightly and behold the wonderous revelation

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