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I m almost human I m almost human Some day I ll prove it Just to you. We re nearly human So nearly human Polished hearts cut From the rough We re nearly human So nearly human Hardly perfect just Human enough. I m almost human Almost human Soon I will be you. Weīve no hope in hell To escape our fate. Thereīs no chance To keep a distance. Walk after me I will lead you astray Along the path Of fierce resistance. I hereby offer you This naked love The Charm Pit below And the void up above. Accept the precious gift This naked love A strip of lust to bind a husk A slice of vice A drop too much But never enough. Itīs never enough. This is how we start With ink of vein to chart Our decline And ruin of union-heart Which beat in time For both of us. A scribe who strives for art, To incise a downward arc The sad path In words which write the dark Sifts through aftermath Chasing any spark. Watch us fall apart The lush veldt we tend grow stark Beauty lost In a past that left her mark We close our eyes And fall apart. Thus the endīs upon us We realize we are goners We embrace A darkness that outshone us Sick of angels And grave Madonnas. Tremble as we clutch The things we used to trust All those dreams We touched, ground to dust Of stone our flesh, Cold now our lust. This is where we end The cut time cannot mend Though my skin Wet with memory will pretend Chimeras still wear The faces of a friend. This is who we are. Lost but never far Away Each dying day. Why stay? Dust is who we are. A wish that fed upon a star Until just a barren core Shining no more. And now our end is nigh. By dark we wonder why The stars Have fled The sky. |
Author notes
A ramble within the spiral introversion of a conch.
Anywhere?
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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Hey GG
I saw this piece as a dark greeting card, not in the normal sense of the word but metaphorically. Dark but in a way that sends you thinking about the possibilities of good. Lots of Angst in this one. Kind of like a parody of a Jimmy Hendrix song, Psychedelic, funny, sincere, raw, and just plain brilliant. A very nice write, can't say much that others haven't already said. SO I won't bother you or take up time by repeating praises. Although I find most of your pieces a far too educated for me and way way too wordy, to say the least, that they often just turn you off, but in this case I was able to look past that and enjoy the poem for what it was instead of thinking about all of the people who won't be able to understand b/c you overload with the book of Webster's. LoL nothing cynical or offensive about it, just trying to let ya see from others' perspective. But a very good writer you are indeed.
TTYL
MM
language: 5, rhythm: 2, subject: 3, tone: 4, form: 3.
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Hey gG
I applaud your persistence to stick to what is for YOU. YOUR style of writing and the way that you do things. I like that in people, shows they have a strong will and don't break easily. A very good thing to have as a man/woman in these days with everybody trying to con another. LoL I did have to break out Good Ol' Webster just to read your comment. I wouldn't dare reduce myself to thinking you an asshole and think fuck off this shithead doesn't know what he's talking about. LoL but that's obviously not true. That's what I love about this place...ALMOST, everybody is upfront, frank, and never leave you with just a praise and kind words, they actually take the time to try and break it down, then help you make it better or give you advice for future works. Thank you for noticing my longing for a larger vocab. and yes I do believe we will be learning till the day our life on earth ends, and even then we do not know what's going to happen. So I guess you could say we're always learning? But I think maybe we're just not always acknowledging it or applying it to our lives? But who knows? The english language is an amazing thing, so many double meanings and ambiguous definitions. So I will keep my head in that dictionary and keep on reading the thesaurus...I appreciate your encouragement and can't wait to try and translate some more of your work LoL. JK But I will be looking at the stuff I've been shying away from, If you're gonna learn ya mine as well do it with something interesting and beautiful right? Maybe that way I'll remember better...Hope to hear from ya again. Always nice to have another point of view on things. Especially somebody that you(I) respect and admire(you and others on the site).
TTYL
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Cheers Again!
Yeah, I agree, it s the honesty and generous offerings of time taken by others to comment on this site that s going to help us improve as writers. But you do have a point about too much wordiness - it shouldn t be expedited at the cost of clarity - well not always...
"Translate" my work, heheh, good one.
Loquacious Regards
gG
PS. I will return the favour of reviewing your work as soon as I finish some other pressing matters, Marcus. Thanx again
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Cheers Marcus.
Thanx for the kind compliments aswell as the pertinent criticism.
I´m well aware my scrawls are not everyone´s cup of Tetley and that their accessiblity is reduced by the use of unusual or "difficult" words.
But like Plumeister and certain others on this site, I am enamoured with the expressive properties of our boundless language - the phrases, neologisms, nuances, puns and corruptions.
I do NOT intend to pompously and pathetically attempt to bombard a reader with perfunctory evidence for philological perspicacity, Marcus. (Heheh, got your dictionary out? or have you just thought: fuck this idiot and stopped reading?)
Words for me are a sacred tool to describe in concise terms ideas, concepts and thoughts that might spring to mind. I´m still very much at the initial learning stage and expect to be so for the rest of this life at least.
In reply to the query in your comment to Al´s "Silent Word" earlier, Marcus, may I say that all you require to improve your own span of vocabulary is just what you mentioned: a dictionary and a thesaurus. Then as long as you have the interest, any good book, graphic novel, film, erudite friend/teacher - whatever - will aid you in this endeavour.
Regards
gG
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I was struck, as I so often am in your pieces, of the rhythm of this piece, Simon. The low singsong, almost a black lullaby, almost certainly a spell you stole from some remote, itinerant, grizzled wizard-- or more likely, a mysterious mer-king-- Norway, after all, being just across the way from Denmark, home of Hans Christian Andersen. Once more, we visit the same circuits of the Spiritus Mundi-- I have been haunted by the song recently, "Just because I'm presumin', that I could be kind of human, if I only had a heart. . ."
You offer us deep-sea pearls, "Polished hearts cut
From the rough," "the path of fierce resistance," "Charm pit" (ha!), and other diabolical delights in crustacean ambition, worthy of Faust:
"A darkness that outshone us
Sick of angels
And grave Madonnas.
Tremble as we clutch
The things we used to trust. . ."
Doubt and ambition, the two-faced downfall of backstabbing Lucifers, Brutuses, Macbeths.
Excellent, bleakly funny and brilliant and psychedelic, as always. You can feed on my starred pie any day.
Cheers,
Lauren
language: 5, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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Ye gods, gG, this one, for me, fairly bleeds with angst and very nearly hits the edge of nihilism and utter futility - and I love it. Reading it, I felt like a little pocket of black roaming the universe, pleading for someone to take me in and hold me. This poem - it's one of the purest poems I've seen on the site - echoes through its shelled spirals those too-often ramblings of utter loneliness in the heart: where is IT? it asks. Where is connection and embrace? Beauty's path so often leads nowhere except to circle back to where it began in the searching heart, like a twisted seashell that's turned in on itself. Wonderful - literally - full of wonder at all the underlying confusions of the wandering soul, clothed in flesh but naked still.
I can feel the impromptu tone of this one, Simon, like a just-post-midnight staring at the stars and then within the soul - just about the most painful and terrifying feeling a person can have, a thoughtful and seeing person, that is. This piece is a fine corrective to so many "lovely and sweet" lyrics that, for all their grace, dress poetry with; your poem is the balance, the other clothes on the skin of the world, the rags of an endless journey for - what? another? one's truest self? the meaning of being human? the truth in the heart of loneliness? the poetic and earthly blend of mind and genitals? All of them and more, I suppose. But "never enough..."
Terrific, all the way.
Lad -
Truly human
--in its truth,
straightforward,
unassuming,
clear, and searching
as we all do,
for reasons why
and answers to.
I regret I
have no answers.
I do know this is real,
achingly so, and that it echoes
among the shards and remnants
of a life much longer than yours,
unsure too of future
in a difficult world.
There is searching there,
so unsure of finding
that it expects nothing anymore,
and yet the forlorn hope lives on
even after all hope is gone.
An eternal emptiness
made palpable through its loss.
There is no logic in it,
bereft even of that.
This poem is immensely moving,
immediate in its grieving,
Knowing only that it enters
a great universality,
one shared by all who loved,
among greatest ironies
that life could confer:
that emptiness is full,
and that though alone,
there is yet sharing.
The poem lives; it reaches out,
and through the medium of words,
also finds
that stars are still there
as they have always been,
even when occluded by cloud.
subject: 5, form: 4.
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You Are Too Kind Terry!
Hi Terry, hope you are well and that the challenging circumstances that have accosted you of late are reaching a form of resolution.
I am mortified to discover that I haven´t given you the common courtesy of a reply before now dear T. I replied to you several times in my head but the physical transcription didn´t transcribe itself!
Suffice to say that I pasted and saved this beautifully poetic comment/review/elegy and when the day comes (hopefully) when I publish a collection of my scribble, would very much like to include excerpts of your wonderful verse here.
I am almost embarrassed by the evident limitations of SHell. It is the closest I´ve come to posting a so-called free-write here at sharepo and I was half-expecting negative responses to it.
Yet I guess SHell´s sincerity is its saving grace, aswell the blessing of peers who can view it through the kindest eyes and acknowledge this piece for what it attempts to portray.
Thanx SO much, Terry.
gG
PS The title: Simon´s Hell is inferred but of course I could never be so self-maledictory could I now - ahem!
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Astonishing!
astonishing,I think there is a clear meaning on this poems amd it it your way you exppress it that lead you to a place of questions, doubts and some responses.What it takes to be Human?
To be human has a positive implication, or just the opposite!?
Being human, being not animal or being more than human.These are our intriguing questions most of our lives.
I deeply enjoy reading this for what it s said and how it is said.
Congratulations...I wonder if you are a nocturnal writer...
Regards from Ludmila
language: 3, rhythm: 3, subject: 3, tone: 4, form: 4.
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Thanx Ludmila!
This went with the flow and never returned to the cutting-room floor. As for the efficacy of nocturnalism for wielding The Word, well I must admit to burning the midnight oil. But in Norway at this time of year with so few daylight hours in a particularly dismal period of mist, sleet and rain (global warming seems to have melted our long, dry snow Winters) almost any writing is done without the aid of sunlight! Nocturnal? No choice! How about you, Ludmila?
WARMEST regards
gG
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"Human" is...
an affectation of the animal, made real only by exercising the capacity for truly selfless love. Therein lies heaven, and of the total lack thereof lies hell. The stars have spewed us forth and conjoined elements wherein we have been made aware as to the cosmic joke that is conscious existence. Love is the beauty of life and is tiered, love of self being the bottom-most rung with joy increasing exponentially as we ascend and supplant selfishness with selflessness.
We can contemplate and philosophise til our inevitable death, but the fact of the matter is that pyramids crumble to dust, and love endures forever in the hearts of those to whom it was given. Love is the quantification of our existence. All else will fade...
Hey gG, this is the gestalt of what I gathered on a cursory read. I'm shooting from the hip for the feel of this piece so you might know the first impression I got without undue introspection. How'd I do? If I'm way off, please tell me.
Oh, and thought it was teriffic, as always. This was a bit of a quickie, but I look forward to further dissection at the behest of ewe...
Al
language: 5, rhythm: 5, subject: 5, tone: 5, form: 5.
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Greetings Plumeister!
I thank you for your comment on this hasty piece, Al. As always I gain in my own understanding through the poetic insight of your interpretation.
But what can I say?
SHell is rather too close to the bone to be prone to an easy interp as to its technical qualities I´m afraid, and I suspect due perhaps to its fragmented non-linear (cracked) pattern and lack of a clear topical core, SHell appears here woefully australopithecus in a primordeal state of foetal development.
In the midst of seasonal depression I suppose this ramble was secreted from a seed sown by the chat we had on honesty, even embarrassing honesty, in poetry. This is personal pathos sucked from The Great Dead Heart fermenting in bile and bitter self-pity. A maudlin display of naked verse in free-fall.
And yet it contains a few rhythmic peaks among the trochaic furrows and it seeks to be
embarrassingly honest. What, if anything, fills the shell?
Mucho regards, Al.
gG
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