Take My Word

[ladymaybebaby]

Take the words of the mother,
and pass them around. Birthed
pink and naked as a cherub,
on limited wings they float.
I was ready to bury them as
soon as they died. They burned out
before I could stomp my heels
in pity. Sinking back to earth
on oxygen fizzled letters, free from
praise or dread.

[moe]

The death of an infant is always terrible I'm sorry that you had to go through that trama.

[ladymaybebaby]

Thank God no! It's about the death of our poetry, how short the life span of our words actually are.
Thanks as always Moe for commenting, it means so much to have you as a friend. I count on you a great deal!
I also owe you a lot... You are a great friend!

-Robin

[ladylilith]

I actually read this yesterday, but didn't get chance to comment. Even on a re-read I'm almost awe-struck by this. Such bold and striking phrasing, I felt myself both excited and repulsed at the same time, not because of anything you've said directly! I mean the meaning, that the whole creative process of writing and putting together poetry can be like birthing a monster methinks and sometimes you can be left to wonder 'what's the pint'? Like the memory of it will fade just as the memory of yourself can. Or maybe more that rather than receive a response (for better or worse) it might just be more prudent to 'bury it' away from any reader's eyes.

Gee, heavy stuff! Such eloquence for an OM, it makes me envious!

Lil
x

[Sasha]

That's so impressive!!
The depth of the meaning was beyond mesmerising!! And how you managed to mingle those thoughts with emotions and just throw them in an elegant piece of poetry!
Stellar OM!

Sash

[candlewitch]

Dear Robin,

This write is so deeply profound...I understand the meaning very well. I think that when our precious words through emotion, fall on deaf ears, it makes us invisible. *hugs to you and congratulations on the spotlight!

always, Cat

[Dew]

Where do all the discarded words go? Return to the muse to try again with another? Float into oblivion? Interesting thoughts...jamb on my friend! Congrats on spotting! - Dew

[rupertpupkin]

Well done on the spotlight, great poem about poetry, nice one, Sean.

[JASON]

so robin,you reckon our words are short lived - no way my friend...
I was listening to an interesting theory that words never die,
once spoken they dance around for eternity - yes,no,maybe?
think about that scripture that says we will be held accountable for every idle word
we ever uttered... oh dear i'm gonna have some serious problems.
Nice to have you back + congrats on the spotlight.

[dwells]

This took me several reads and first impression was similar to Moe's, but something was not quite right. Then the metaphor of posting or birthing a new poem hit me. Something fresh and new that perhaps has an unlamented and inconspicuous passing to page two; on the way to oblivion. Meanwhile our hopes and aspirations are dashed by a lukewarm reception on the fruits of our mental womb; forever buried in an unremarkable grave; with no takers. Cheers LMB and this was totally relatable!

[inflames]

Awesome. I really love this… the metaphor is so strong and it really strikes a cord with me. Congrats on your spotlight! :)

[SirFleshwound]

The visual impact of this short and subtle piece is vivid. I know I have enjoyed someones work when I have composed the scene of the write in my mind on the first read. Thank you for providing me with the view:)
Michael.

[Baywriter]

Such a short poem, but I think this is one of the strongest I've seen from you. Not sure how I missed it. I really like the metaphor, how we are the mothers of our words and how quickly we have to bury our "children." The images a strong and to the point. Really enjoyed this. Congrats on the spotlight! Definitely well-deserved.

Bay

[zemole3]

great piece on the now'ness of things with an excellent metaphor of birth! top notch!

[Josie]

Congratulations on the TPS Spotlight recognition. It was without doubt, a thought provoking poem. I am thankful Emily Dickinson did not get around to 'burying' her poems, even though they were not revealed or published until after her death. Walt Whitman kept working on or tweaking his 'Leaves of Grass' throughout his life. Probably, most of us know when our poems fail, and even if we 'bury' them, certain word combinations will surface again in our minds and present themselves in a new and different way. Thank you for sharing it.