BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

So, this happened ...

My previous therapist had been encouraging me to dip a toe back into writing poetry. I explained how that had all gone sideways for me back before I stopped, but she thought it might let me get a handle on some of the stuff that's making me nuts now. While I hadn't acted on her advice, it was evidently kicking around in the back channels of my head, and for no particular reason last night I pulled the trigger on it.

It has been a LONG time since I've written poetry. As is evident from the course of my annual collections, my OCD-spurred 250/year pace ebbed away towards the end of the millenium, with the last of the "easily found" works being in 2001 (I really, really, hope that I didn't lose those later ones like I did all my early poems in the hideous extremes of last year's move). There was a time when I put what I was writing here (along with long-since-disappeard audio files), but the most recent one I could find (via the "poetry" tag - I'm very lax at tagging my posts) was from November 2006, but not posted until April 2007.

Anyway, I noted over on FB that I had, indeed, written a new poem, and there was a minor clamor (my audience is in the dozens, so there's never much of an uproar) to actually see this remarkable confluence of ASCII characters. And, here it is (behind a cut tag ... click on the little "v"):



                    THE TITLE TO OUR VOID


                    1
                    an echo,
                    a dare,
                    a resonance formed
                    of convolutions
                    in threads of time,
                    surging currents
                    deep beneath the surface
                    of unending storms
                    2
                    without a will,
                    denied the drive,
                    something impels,
                    makes motive,
                    presses into zones
                    long sealed beyond these walls;
                    exuding fear,
                    screaming silent
                    3
                    all things change
                    but nothing does,
                    the nightmare is static,
                    underlying every age
                    with displacement,
                    frustration,
                    and liminal rending
                    of every seam
                    4
                    somehow
                    we find a shore,
                    an edge transition
                    between the was
                    and the not yet,
                    the line disturbs us,
                    an abomination
                    that should not be
                    5
                    what this has
                    is without herald,
                    the dam decays
                    and floods proceed
                    down long-forgotten channels,
                    we stare in horror,
                    unwilling to cede
                    the title to our void


                             - Brendan Tripp
                                04/23/2019

                    Copyright © 2019 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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Tags: poetry
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