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at the end of your arms

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Grotesques and gargoyles guard the gate of your heart
And they are beautiful
Permafrosted  problems of the past
I admire the dirty, poor purity, at least its real
The avenue to reach you is a tundra
Vast open spaces
Where your feelings should have been
At the end of this drive waits an ice queen
Pointing the icicle fingers at me
One look of her eyes
Could slay medusa
Hell does not have the fury
Like this confetti, the  puree of emotion
Of those festering moods
The mightiest pendulum
Must be swung
The driest funeral drum and bell rung
Beats a dampened heart
Trying to break out
All those chemicals suppress it
But when worn off or eroded
When concrete damn cracked, corroded
So comes the flood of it all.
The broad shoulders shudder upon impact
Remain upright intact
A support
the skill of the counsellor
the pill of a faithful lover
they can see beyond
when the storm clears
when the bawling ends
when its all ejected
all the demons projected, torrents of spinning green
your left with a calm
a vacuum resides at the end of your arms
and they fill naturally
with my remains
as we scrape off the soil
stronger than before.



◄ A postcard from Happiness

Make me a child ►


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Tue 4th May 2010 12:40

Love this one. Yes - the hope of new beginnings, the acknowledgement of old scars, life, love and humanity with all its grime - ready to be scraped clean and renewed.

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Andy N

Tue 4th May 2010 08:19

lot already said, pete that sums up what i feel so i won't add any more except saying i really enjoyed this!

Pete Crompton

Mon 3rd May 2010 12:43

interesting angle on the puree.
Chris, Ann, Cynthia, thanks for these comments on this one. I apologise for using the blogs as a virtual workspace as opposed to posting the finished product, but for some reason it works that way for me, it only makes sense once i hit the post button. Its almost like there is a barrier that is only lifted once posted, not sure why. I always wanted to share my ideas, a form of confessional therapy, from the earliest age. I suppose its the same for many of us, it must be a challange to write for 'an exercise' how can we write without an emotional connection to the subject. I think there is a debate / thread on this.

i think ill stick with the 'puree' word and have removed 'decompose' though it is close to 'compote', intersting Ann that you used the word 'Jar' (which i agreed with 'decompose' did 'Jar' ) but also it connects with 'Jar..of...' like a jam jar, as I always thought emotions quite like jam in a jar, sweet, messy, screwed down, lid on emotion etc......

other poets have used the idea, I think Donalds Maple Syup was one.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 3rd May 2010 12:03

Wow, Pete, line after line presses on with vital, fresh ideas and gripping images. 'Grotesques and gargoyles' captured my attention immediately, and 'permafrosted problems' grabbed me totally. The rest of the poem just continued to command total commitment.

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Chris Dawson

Mon 3rd May 2010 05:03

Good stuff Pete, has a hopeful/new beginnings feel to me.

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Ann Foxglove

Sun 2nd May 2010 19:09

Or indeed the decomposing of emotion? I guess I don't like puree. But that's just me! ;-) (It makes me think of baby food.)

Pete Crompton

Sun 2nd May 2010 18:53

i agree on that one, i actually thought the same, shall we see what its like without?

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Ann Foxglove

Sun 2nd May 2010 12:57

Sends a shiver down the spine Pete! The only thing that jars for me is the decomposing puree. (Maybe it was a jar of decomposing puree!) x

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