BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

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

                    an echo,
                    a dare,
                    a resonance formed
                    of convolutions
                    in threads of time,
                    surging currents
                    deep beneath the surface
                    of unending storms
                    without a will,
                    denied the drive,
                    something impels,
                    makes motive,
                    presses into zones
                    long sealed beyond these walls;
                    exuding fear,
                    screaming silent
                    all things change
                    but nothing does,
                    the nightmare is static,
                    underlying every age
                    with displacement,
                    and liminal rending
                    of every seam
                    we find a shore,
                    an edge transition
                    between the was
                    and the not yet,
                    the line disturbs us,
                    an abomination
                    that should not be
                    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

                    Copyright © 2019 by Brendan Tripp

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Tags: poetry
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