BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

You were just ACHING for something new, yes?

Yeah, I know ... almost all the stuff I've been putting up in here recently has been four to six years old. I really have been meaning to write stuff, but it just hasn't been gelling into any form that's been accessible to me to capture with pen and paper. I did, however, spew one out yesterday. I don't think it's particularly coincidental that when I'm feeling my worst is the only time when the poems come these days.

                    IN PITS OF ANGUISH

                    stressors entwine,
                    form a garrote
                    choking off air,
                    crushing all hope,
                    obliterating light;
                    in the nightmare
                    who can dream
                    beyond this dread?

                    our delusions
                    are not enough
                    to forge tomorrows
                    not insane,
                    to chart some future
                    without despair,
                    the curdling touch of death
                    upon our soul

                    these weeks seem pointless,
                    all efforts wasted
                    chasing out within the real
                    the phantasms of mundane life,
                    for we are different,
                    not of that world,
                    here chained to doom unseen
                    and damned to claustrophobic cells

                    life bleeds out
                    and empties eyes
                    once full of promise;
                    with nothing for us here
                    we only wait
                    the draining flow of days
                    to lead us downward
                    to the grave

                    the frantic spasm,
                    survival's seizure,
                    is the only spark
                    animating being;
                    we are beaten, defeated,
                    cast down so low,
                    in pits of anguish
                    from which there's no escape

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2006 by Brendan Tripp


"Back in the day", when I was writing 250 poems a year, I had a structure ... heck, when I went back to school for the I.T. stuff, I started writing regularly again (if at a considerably lesser pace than 21 poems a month). Obviously, part of the problem is having no "schedule" ... maybe if by some fucking miracle I actually manage to get a job I might be able to get back to writing! Of course, if I started posting 21 poems a month in here everybody would drop me from their Friends Lists (or maybe just take up a collection for me to get some therapy)!

Visit the BTRIPP home page!

Tags: audio, poetry
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