Dog and frog. A friend’s Yorkie, not mine (sadly, as he’s a sweetie).
Here’s something not-so completely different. A proem (ranting + poem). AU NOTE: Have fun, ghost of Dr. Freud!
Vestigial Child
(3-13-17)
What raw ravaged
seed defines me,
I cannot catalog,
but I can define
each wound
by its unwounding.
This sediment here,
youth; that, betrayal
of not telling.
This layer bounded
by leeched limestone laid
where each burial was swift
centuries chipped in
to what passes for
my soul these days.
Eggshell white
pieces, piecemeal.
Peaceful never.
Hurt rage ranging
as far as the tether
allows, sears, marks,
won’t give, won’t forgive.
Scars come unconditionally
coddling the cold warmth
of phenotypic oddity,
biological prop
vestigial child
mad witness to
your own match
immolating from within
an egg hurled
in that moment
coming full cervix
and splattering on
brutal bedrock:
stone of masculinity, madness
metamorphic as cell,
seed, shell. Birth, death
swaddled in light
bundle of bagged
flesh, fresh bulb
in welcome ground
stunted womb
rooming, roaming
from wing to web to ring.
Every decade
laying down silt
in slighted skin
peeled-back
curetted and curated
to show off. Look:
See that charred
oath dashed to hell?
Shelled-out hulls
fall easiest, prey
to gravity, strung
causing welts,
coiling Weltschmerz
around figments
of neck, rendered delicate
by one’s own
sublime grief, a
doppelgänger, which
won’t get out of
the way. Ghost
obscures the body
until all that remains
is the conversation
with the shadow.
Leigh's Wordsmithery 
Wonderful read that had me scrambling for my dictionary. I felt you giving substance to emotion and thought. Loved it!
Thank you, Thom. I appreciate that!
Love this! But it’s demanding further readings. 🙂
Why thank you, Bob. I hope I haven’t subconsciously lifted any lines or phrases from you (you’re, by far, the poet I’ve read the most in the last 2-3 years).
You’ve touched on one of my greatest fears/paranoias – that I’ll subconsciously lift a line from something I’ve read. Eek! But overly worrying about this would paralyze me, so I just keep writing 😐
Ditto, Bob! I’m at the point, though, that I’m forgetting what I’ve forgotten, soooo I’m evolving into becoming nonchalant about such things (as you said, if you worry too much, it paralyzes you to action). Anyway, have wonderful weekend!
I look at poems in folders and ask “did I write that?” Ha! You have a great weekend, too.
Phew! Strong stuff! Beautifully written.
Thanks, Curtis. I hope writing and anthologizing are going well for you. I still need to get your cats anthology from last year, especially as I have been feeding a semi-feral kitty for the last month or so (don’t tell my husband!), not to mention that I grew up with cats. Lots and lots of cats.
Raw and beautiful Leigh, I can feel the emotion just barely contained within the lines.
Love the comment, Andrea. I am humbled. If I were to write a poetry book, that would be an awesome testimonial for the back (or front) of the dustjacket.
There are so many images here ….
🙂
This is, indeed, strong stuff and very moving, with some sharp images and attention-jolting lines.
Most curious! I like the strong emotion and find it quite shocking in places, which I also like and I like the way it breaks down my own barriers and opens inner doors to other places I had never thought about. it’s the kind of poetry I like, thanks, Leigh!