Remembering

Other Poetry, Parenting No Comments »

Hi

Today, in honour of the date, I have decided to post up a ‘conventional’ poem.

I don’t like the title I gave it, but it is the one I wrote when I was 18; four days after the horror at Dunblane Primary School.

The children and teacher that died were much more than ‘victims’, in life.  The survivors are too.

There are many clichés I could use when speaking of that day, but I will say that it moved me then – and goes even deeper now I have children.  The twentieth anniversary falling last year, when Eldest was in P1, was particularly poignant.

[I tried hard not to think about how vulnerable our schools still need to be in order to make them welcoming places – I tried not to cry as I waved my child into his classroom the next day and had to pass the big windows of the gym hall to reach the school gates.]

But we do not (and did not) live in Dunblane.

Any empathy I can muster is absolutely a drop in the ocean compared to the grief and continual heartache those families have, I am well aware of that; and I wish I could find the words to comfort them every day they have to live with the aftermath of 1996. 

They must never be forgotten. I admire the spirit and poise the community of Dunblane have shown, and they are in my thoughts often.

 

Parent of a Victim

 

She can stare out her window

And watch the panto.

The playing young kids that

Survived.

 

She wonders how others

Remember to breathe,

Without remembering, too,

What happened.

 

The pillows are wet

With the huge sorrow tears –

It won’t make the second hand

Stop.

 

She could smile and tell them all

That she’s okay, but it is

All a farce

It won’t last.

 

No matter how busy,

No matter how rich,

No matter how ‘fulfilled’ –

It gapes:

 

The hole, where that bonny wee

Lassie was held

In the heart; now lying

In silent ground.

 

Living for others, her window is smashed;

The splinters jab her memory.

That fateful Wednesday, 1996.

She’ll never forget March 13th.

 

 

 

The messy type-up I have kept from my electric typewriter days. My spelling has really benefited from advances in  technology!

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Cut

Mental Health, Random poetry, Relationships No Comments »

Hello 🙂

This will be scraping midnight before it is published, but we had homework and socialising to do today 😉

Patiently waiting his turn, while I admired his curls!

Both of my boys were invited to a party at soft play this afternoon.  They loved it!  Eldest is very proud of his giraffe tattoo, and Youngest looked very cute in his Batman face paint, framed as it was by his curls!  They both went daft scaling all the levels of the structures in the place, and generally gambolling about.  Hubby and I got to chat with people and only keep a loose watch over proceedings, which is something we don’t generally have the luxury of!

In the morning, Eldest was stomping around the playroom with Youngest, both attempting the moves to Just Dance 2’s “Walk Like An Egyptian”.  They were so enthusiastic and determined, and made Hubby and me chuckle.

From Textfixer

It’s practice for the parents’ assembly on Tuesday, as Eldest gets to say some lines and showcase some of his class’ learning from this term.  I’m really looking forward to it!  He knows his lines off by heart, even although some of the words are quite tricky to get one’s tongue around!  I’m ridiculously proud of him.

When I saw today’s words after watching our boys dance, I thought that they read like some dramatic screenplay was being performed.  A poem took shape from there.

 

Cut  Fin  Heart  Hidden  Charismatic  Forbidden  Bright  Blackness  Choking

 

It was shouted, so we cut,

And our screen displayed ‘fin’;

Each heart stuffed in our shirts

Bleeding, but still hidden.

His charismatic performance

Was reeled out anew,

Knowing that to falter

Was forbidden.  And you –

As bright as a headlight –

Startled words from my tongue

(As the wallowing blackness

Began choking my lungs)

He gave me not a glance

As he walked from that room,

And you soon followed suit

Leaving me to my gloom.

 

Society’s cosplay is

Harder by far, than the

Lights and the action of

His warm, shooting star.

So I’d rather not partake

Of falseness and fib; but

Live in the realms of feelings

Where I seldom ad lib.

 

Lurid green scribbles

I think that, at the start of this poem, the speaker and the man are either having a serious and emotional talk (heart to heart, if you will!) or are acting, and the scene they have together is full of love tryst elements.

Then either someone interrupts them, or the director does literally shout ‘cut’.  At this moment, the speaker sees a barrier go up in the man, and reflects that he is now having to put on an act (or he’s convincing everyone he’s fine, because to not be is not allowed and seen as weakness, which takes more effort than the scene they were playing before).

The speaker seems to find it impossible to seamlessly fall back into reality, and feels like s/he is frozen in their former emotional role.  S/he doesn’t know how to react to society crashing back in and taking over.  The speaker begins to feel an obviously familiar despair and hopelessness which seems to be stopping them from communicating the way they are forced to by reality/society.

The man walks away without looking back, seeming to choose reality over the complex emotional world of the speaker.  The person who interrupted the speaker leaves too.  The speaker appears to feel more despair…

The last reflections sound to me like the speaker pointing out that reality forces us all to hide our truth more than written script or delving into our feelings ever does.  Maybe that the stage (or screen) is the place where actual reality plays out, as one can explore themselves; and we are all unscripted and awkward in our day to day lives because we never ponder things fully, or let ourselves be vulnerable.  The speaker appears to be saying we try on many more costumes in ‘real life’, we are forever hiding behind them and pretending that they are all that are worth seeing.

The poem doesn’t scan perfectly, but they rarely do within 15 minutes.  I had one minute left after writing this!

Can you relate to the speaker?

Come visit the Facebook page

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Malcontent

Random poetry, Relationships 2 Comments »

Hello 🙂

How are you?

From Jimpix

I want to know why (flipping) Jimpix is obsessed with making me research different Chinese cities?  Do I need this information for a later scene in my life story, or something?!

I dutifully looked up ‘Shenyang’, as well as reading about the delights of ‘pleurisy’ and ‘malcontent’.  The latter because I don’t trust my Latin after all these years, clearly.  But one never knows…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pillar  Uranus  Broom  Shenyang  Camping  Futuristic  Surfer  Pleurisy  Malcontent

 

Mal was not a pillar of the community,

And he still chucked if you mentioned

“Uranus”

 

He was useless with a broom, unless

He was feigning witchcraft or cavalry.

 

But I loved him.

We all loved him.

 

That crazy trip to Shenyang –

Where we all got caught camping

In that massive room he rented

On his dad’s plastic.

 

Those were good times!

 

His knack of understanding

When you felt at your lowest,

Not saying much, just plugging in

Some stupid futuristic game;

And letting you win.

Just so you could shoot at something

That wasn’t your own foot.

 

His tousled, surfer-boy hair;

Wet against the pillow as he coughed!

Telling me he was fine, while clutching his chest.

 

A simple thing like pleurisy!!

So unfair.

 

Our symbol of collective “malcontent” no longer here

To help us fight the void that sucks at us.

 

A bit truncated, but I wrote a LOT.

This poem actually makes me teary.  I can see the girlfriend standing with her wee speech on cards at a lectern in the church (thinking that this would probably be the last place ‘Mal’ would want to have his funeral, but his parents insisted)

I see her with long, naturally ash-blonde hair, ironed very straight for the occasion, hanging past her shoulders and held back from her eyes with a simple Kirby grip. There are small red roses around the bodice of her mostly-black dress.  Her pain (and guilt) is coming off her in waves.

I just want to hug her!

What did you see while reading the poem?  Do you have a Mal in your group of friends?

 

(Did your brain just get a bit stuck on Nathan Fillion’s character in Firefly?!)

 

 

[Photo credit: Pixabay]
Come visit the Facebook page

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

 

 

Vertical

Random poetry, Relationships No Comments »

Hiyeee!

From Random Word Generator

I looked at the words that came up today, and a pal I had at university sprang into my head at the combination of ‘drink’ and ‘thesis’.  Those were crazy days…

I really don’t know how I got much work done.  I think it must be a good thing I am so emetophobic – so know my limits and abide by them 😛 although why wasn’t I petrified every day at University?  Looking back there were soooo many situations I would just refuse to put myself in now!

I should get my alumni pass and visit the student union again.  It’d never ever everrrr be the same though, almost 14 years on (!!!) 

*Sigh*

 I do like the look of the MA in Creative Writing from the OU, however…a challenge for my fifties, maybe?! 😛

 

Treat  Drink  Particular  Thesis  Spine  Name  Vertical  Moon  Tidy

 

We said, as a treat, we’d just have one more

(Her drink was slopping, as it was, on the floor)

That particular night, though quite dark and quite late,

Her thesis was flowing from her pen at some rate.

I ordered the vodkas, swaying in the line,

Wondering how her brain was working just fine,

As I watched her so lively, a rod in her spine;

Despite heavy rock music blaring all the time.

She downed, in a oner, the alcohol; then

Was spouting some psychologist’s name once again.

Though I was very drunk, I stayed vertical and

Most of her research I could still understand…

When at last we wend home by the light of the moon,

She had many sides covered of A4, and soon

(She declared) she’d be famous and keep us in booze –

As she made tidy sums, and with celebs did schmooze.

 

Scribbles

It was ridiculous the amount of time I spent on my social life at Uni.  I had people visit, lived with various house/flatmates, stayed up talking on the phone for hourrrrrrs, kipped over at my friends’ pads, tottered all night between the bar and dancefloor…little wonder I have all these characters in my head! 

It was a time in my life when I felt I was where I was meant to be.  It was the first educational establishment I had been to where it was just a given that you were a bit of a swot (when you weren’t partying) and that was cool. 

The drunken conversations were intellectual, even if a little unintelligible at times. 

People got your pop references, you know, the non-mainstream ones. 

It was allowed, even expected that you’d break a few rules.  I freaking loved university!!

But one day I had to make a choice whether I leapt into the big adult job I had been aiming for (teaching) or carried on being a bit of a bum in the huge wide world – where the safe givens of university were not always available.

I chose the latter, and it took me a while to find my tribe again.  But I’m getting there, and it’s a lot harder work being this incarnation of myself.

But when I think back to my time at uni, I realise that I’ve outgrown that skin.  I may return to further study at some point, but I’ll never be that free again…though I’m cool with that.  Part of this growing older thing is realising the journey was always leading to where you are standing right now, and that you are there for a reason.  Sometimes I get flashes of what that ultimate reason is, and when I do, it fills me with a sense of excitement and hope.  It is something as yet intangible, but I feel that this activity right here is a big link in the chain, and I thank you for joining me as I figure it all out.

😀

 

Come visit the Facebook page
Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

Correlation

Random poetry, Relationships 2 Comments »

Hello, lovely readers!

Very excited about the launch of my Facebook community page for this blog!

Thanks again to all who are reading this, it is beyond heartwarming that you take time out of your day to visit me here and see what I’m up to 😉  I send each and every one of you a massive hug!!

It took a vast bottomless pit of bit of panic meltdown complete creative despair courage to start this little venture and, 80 posts in, the feedback I am getting is MOST encouraging *does a wee happy jig*

From textfixer

If you had told my 15 year old self that almost a quarter of a century (!!) later I’d be putting my writing out into the world every evening (and people would not only CHOOSE to read it, but keep coming back) well…!  She’d ask you what the heck a ‘blog’ was on this strange ‘internet’ thing, and then she’d look hopeful for a moment before dismissing you as a loony.  Teenagers, eh?

I had an idea kicking around in my head after hearing a story the other week (mixed in with the fact we attended Eldest’s parents’ evening earlier).  I decided to change the circumstances of the story I’d heard (and ages and genders, actually.  Basically everything…) and set it in the playground, when I saw ‘correlation’ come up, paired with ‘drug’ and ‘adventure’.

I chuckled while writing this, so I hope it amuses you, too:

 

correlation, bag, drug, doomsday, sweat, adventure, good, bare, boast

 

Our lives have no real correlation,

He is so official and together

With his important-looking bag;

And his hair all neat.

But, oh, it’s like some drug

To stand at the classroom door,

Smiling at the kids,

Wondering if he’s noticed me.

 

I know my personal doomsday clock

Would be so up if they guessed my thoughts –

My career all in ruins

All that Uni-sweat in vain…

But man what a rush!

Such a crazy adventure

To step into the sunset

With a mature man like him!

 

I bet he knows a good few languages,

Could take me to posh eateries;

Shower me with trinkets;

Talk poetry while bare-toed in the sand.

All the ‘men’ my age boast too much.

His kid won’t be in my class next year –

Plus I’m sure he’s separated

After his wife called me last week…

 

Noting – in a book

Has anyone checked her stove for bunnies…?

I saw the speaker as a hair-twirler looking askance at some poor, unsuspecting, businessman who had made time in his day to wave off his son most mornings.  She was wearing an impratically twirly dress for her day ahead, and pouting.

What did you see?

And, more importantly, do you have any scandalous stories to share?! 😛

Feel free to comment here, or on the shiny new page !!

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

 

Plot

Parenting, Random poetry No Comments »

Good Evening 🙂

From randomlists

This has been a trying day.  I may write a post about it at a later point, when I can formulate a positive spin on it *blows raspberry*

Let’s just leave it at “I’ll be glad when it’s bedtime” 😉

I saw today’s words, in my less than calm state, and I knew it was going to be a parenting-type poem again.  I don’t think I’ll be alone in the subject matter, if your kids/grandkids/siblings’ kids are anything like our two! 

It did cheer me up writing it, so there’s a positive to cling to straight away 😛

 

Plot  Collar  Intelligent  Route  Share  Advice  Remove  Memory  Wave

 

It’s amusing that they never think

I’ll figure out the plot;

Like they’re some great masterminds:

Their collar never pulled.

They are intelligent, I’ll give them that,

Their route is ever-changing;

But my mum-sense always tingles

(Plus: they don’t clean up too well)

 

I’ve heard them point out that they meant to share,

That others sin much greater;

That youngest did the deed alone,

On no advice at all.

I’ve heard that toys remove themselves

That memory is patchy;

That wrappers can jump out of bins,

And fingerprints can lie.

 

But they’re still young enough, that if I say

Their nose grew, they might check it;

Their hearts are still so full of love

That mum-rage makes them sad.

So I think that maybe I can say

Society ain’t threatened;

Let them crest a wave of fibs –

Before I shut them down…

 

Pink poetry

Anyone else out there dreading the day the little darlings become better at leading you up the garden path?! I admire the imagination involved, of course, but still…

 

What whoppers have you heard recently?  Did you manage to keep a straight face while you blew them out of the water?!

 

Let me know in the comments…!

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

Clean Sailing

Childhood, Parenting, Random poetry 4 Comments »

How you doodling?

 

I begin writing this under the weight of our three year old. I am propped up in bed, having just read the first two chapters of Five Go Off To Camp (a relic from my childhood) to the eldest. Eldest got very sleepy, and willingly went off to bed after a big hug ‘n’ kiss.

Something about lying across me has stopped youngest’s incessant cough for a bit. Unfortunately, mine has been aggravated by the reading, so I doubt I’m particularly comfy to lie on! But still, he sleeps.

I can’t actually believe how long youngest has got. As eldest snuggled into us, I could see youngest was still relatively small; but lying on my chest with both little arms cuddling me, his hips are about where mine are and, stretched out as he is, his toes skim past my knees. 

I am wearing the top I birthed him in, and when he first was flopped upon me and gave me a long look (!) he just seemed so dinky! How can that be almost four years ago?! 

I don’t usually preside over the toothbrush tantrums but, as hubby is at a work dinner thing, I had to this evening. Both boys are so confident – and proficient at it these days!! They both took their brush from me and started going around their mouth with a concentrated look in their eyes.  Thinking back, it must have been about June that I last went through the

From Jimpix

ritual with them. Geez. I did their teeth for them as well, to make sure they were sorted, but to be honest the boys had done a very good job. Scary and yet awesome stuff!

(It’s something hubby does because watching the boys do their teeth makes me feel weird)

Anyway, having to “cherish them while they’re young” has been on my mind as I see our Spring babies hurtle towards another birthday, and was probably partly why today’s poem was written. 

I have also had the privilege of wandering  back n forth with a lovely mum pal of mine on some legs of my school commute this week; our eldest kids hung about together quite a bit when they were little. My friend’s youngest is so like her big sister that just looking at her stirs memories of playgroups and playdates when the bigger kids were that small. It all went so fast!!

I had to look up ‘Pochard‘, derivation and Lostine today (yes, I got to the point, eventually) and they were not the easiest words to fit in (Jimpix!!) but you can see what you think…

 

Clean  Sailing  Person  Pochard  Derivation  Lostine  Badminton  Anvil  Jangle

 

It just takes a clear day

And some clean pieces of paper

For us to be sailing the shallows

With our new boats.

A knight: the person at the helm,

Evading Pochard (and our dog

Whose derivation from our ‘play’

Is ‘to give chase’)

And cousin Louis, so enthralled,

(Here with us from Lostine, Oregon)

Loving all the chaos kids create.

 

Later, we play badminton, football;

Lay on our backs and watch the sky,

Pointing out big anvil clouds make things –

And before eyelids start to droop

Or the jangle of their squabbles come to roost;

We homeward trot with memories we’ve shared.

 

Little red writinghood

You can tell I live in Scotland, when I can start a poem talking about it being a clear day, then mention anvil clouds towards the end!  Aaah, the lovely changeable climate in which we live…

My first memory is actually of lying in my pram and looking at the clouds.  I couldn’t have told you then about the crocodiles or faces held therein, but I can tell you that it gave me a sense of peace. Explains a lot, really 😉

Did you ever get to sail paper boats with an adult when you were a kid?  I don’t remember actually doing that, but we did make quite a few paper hats over the years and use them for different costumes.  I like that the kids in the poem have a knight as the captain.  My boys would do that.

I did love a game of badminton, my mum used to go to a class every week, and I vividly remember playing games of it on a holiday in Cornwall, along with lots of table tennis.  There were facilities for both near the beach, if I remember correctly.

The days of childhood always seemed to be a lot longer than they are for me now, and I really miss that.  It saddens me often that my days are once again governed by school terms and events, but then I am lucky in that my boys still like telling me stories about their time without me.  I love hearing about how they interact with their peers, and how they relay time at home to their teachers.  I really hope I give them good memories of the simple things that they will carry all their lives.

 

[Photo credit: Pixabay]

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

Release

Mental Health, Random poetry 2 Comments »

Hey there you 😉

From Random Word Generator

For the first time I can remember, it appears that a “character” from a previous poem has come back to tell us how they’re doing!

The speaker in this one, I’m pretty sure, is the same one as two days ago (here).  Thankfully, they seem on their way to being much happier, now!

 

 

 

 

Symbol  Release  Wealth  Fog  Meat  Philosophy  Hen  Application  Product

 

As a symbol of my release

I cleaned off the black nail varnish.

A wealth of fresh ideas

Suddenly jostled through the fog.

My frame no longer prey

For those who liked their meat lean;

I realised my philosophy of life

Was worth sharing.

 

I whispered it at first,

Sounding crazy to myself,

Elucidating, growing stronger as I aged.

“Hen, you’re mental but I like you!”

Just spurred on my application

Some rough-cut thoughts slow-forming

Into some product I could use.

 

The green green mass of tome…

If we think back to Cellblock, we had left the speaker fearful of a life beyond high school.  They had bulimia, purging themselves of the poison of ludicrous expectations. 

The black nail varnish being removed, to me, is indicative of a shedding of a skin.  A taking down of a barrier between them and society, but also between them and their true nature. 

There is a whole goth/emo persona that can be donned when one feels misunderstood and ‘alternative’. I feel that the speaker may have embraced the styling because trying to fit into the fickle fashions of the mainstream was pointless.  You either have it or you don’t, the speaker appears to have felt s/he would be “wrong” no matter what s/he did, so stopped trying.

Better, surely, to embrace the dark side of their character, as that is where their thoughts lingered most of the time due to the taunts…

I think the speaker was trapped mostly in the prison of their own mind, in the end.  When enough people tell you something about yourself, it seems arrogant to disagree.  It becomes part of the chatter in your head over time.  It becomes part of your accepted truth.

I see today’s poem as the speaker shaking themselves awake, flexing their wings, and realising there is a whoooole wide sky to soar in   😀

 

[Photo credit: Pixabay]

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

Zip

Parenting, Random poetry No Comments »

Hiya 😀

From Randomlists

The speaker in today’s poem morphed while I was writing about her.  Right in front of my eyes, on the video screen in my head!

At the start she was a high-heeled lady getting changed for a night out, and then by the second verse she…well, see for yourself!

 

 

 

Zip  Mysterious  Home  Pushy  Report  Military  Calculator  Chalk   Follow

 

My zip got stuck

In that mysterious turn

That never occurs when you’re home.

The pushy woman outside

Of the toilet-stall door

Then saw fit to report that I’m selfish!

 

In my military voice

(That I use on the kids)

I barked “Shut up!” and wiggled some more.

She (no calculator of

Mood, clearly, then) proceeded

To SCREAM her reply.

 

Before thought cut in,

I was out of that stall

My unwashed hands ‘round her neck!

Chalk it all up to hormones

In court case to follow

(For PEACE, I’ll have junior in jail)

 

Notebook scribbles

So, where did that curveball come from?!

I have had a head cold, replete with cough, off and on since January – and I am so faaaar into being fed up with it.   I think this is the fourth recurrence in about 7 weeks.  I reckon that means I must be pretty infectious? Our youngest is also on his fourth, as is hubby (Eldest is on his second) – so the lovely friend’s baby shower I was meant to attend today had to be bowed out of.  (I remember that colds when you’re full of baby are even more pants than this!!)

Thoughts of pregnancy being uppermost in my mind this afternoon kind of explains why my speaker turned out the way she did 😉

Public toilets were always an issue for me when I was preggers.  My bumps seemed to be extra big from quite early on, and toilet cubicles suddenly became very small.  It didn’t seem right, even although I had crutches for my first and should have had them for my second, to use the disabled toilets ‘just’ for being unwieldy and sore.  So I found myself squeezing around doors, that slammed against roll dispensers if not handled properly, then trying to get said door closed while not brushing the backs of my jeans against the toilet…!

I didn’t wear many things that needed to be zipped up while I was pregnant, but the frustration of a wardrobe malfunction is well known to most of us, I’d wager? I was partial to a preggy meltdown or two as well, so I can see how the combination of zip and rage would result in an assault given the right circumstances…

(Why are there never enough cubicles in a ladies’ toilet, once you exclude the two that are permanently blocked ?!  You’d think that wouldn’t be an issue in the 21st century, but still it remains)

Grrrr.

Have you any pregnancy/toilet/wardrobe nightmares to tell me? Go on, go on, go on…

[Photo credit: Pixabay]

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!

 

Cellblock

Mental Health, Random poetry 5 Comments »

Hello!

From Textfixer

Well, I’m not entirely sure what I wrote about tonight…

‘Cellblock’ has even the Urban Dictionary stumped (I’m very disappointed) and, as it wasn’t split into two words on the generator, I couldn’t really get away with using it as patchy phone reception.  Part of a prison it had to be.

I think the worst word was ‘amoebic’.  I looked it up, but again no real inspiration came of it.  I didn’t feel like writing about poop.

*Sigh*

 

Flavoring  Injustice  Healing  Fortune  Cellblock  Empire  Exit  Amoebic  Levitating

 

They may have added flavoring,

But it was still injustice.

No chance of healing

(Or fortune doing anything but leaving)

As I sat in that cellblock;

Waiting.

 

And that lofty little empire

I had dreamed of building

Began to leak from my hopes.

Soon it seeped away completely –

An exit hastened by amoebic purge –

Sluicing.

 

That truth I could not reach for,

That promise of release,

Levitating dangerously close.

They told me it was fantasy;

They drummed in mediocre.

(Ordinary)

 

Having read this quite a few times to myself, I think it may be about high school, and the speaker is bullied there.

Pencil ponderings

The ‘flavoring’ may mean that ‘they’ couch the verbal taunts in such a way that it doesn’t seem that abusive – until you analyze it.

The ‘amoebic purge’ could actually be bulimia, the amoeba being metaphorical: societal expectations infecting the speaker with a skewed perception of their weight (in all senses of the word).

‘The truth’ seems to link back to a feeling of being innocent, of not belonging in the place the speaker is imprisoned.  The fact the speaker ‘could not reach for’ it seems to suggest they have no one in there to advocate for them.

‘That promise of release / Levitating dangerously close’ can be read as a fear of what is beyond high school.  The speaker appears desperate to escape, for their sentence to be over; but is unsure what to do on the outside.  A feeling real prisoners can share.

The last three lines can be seen as referring back to the ones about the speaker’s hopes for greatness draining away.  Their peer group (and maybe the teachers, and the very education system itself) have groomed them to be a clone.  For years the speaker has been told they need to follow conventional paths and that what they really want to do is mere head-in-the-clouds stuff.

Sound plausible?

I could be wrong, I’m only the conduit for this stuff.

 

 

Copyright © 2017  Montaffera All Rights Reserved
Please do not use any of my content (posts, pictures, poetry etc) without my permission, but feel free to link back to my blog if something catches your eye. Thank you!