Monday, 8 July 2013

Word-coloured Lens

I used that term on Saturday in a tweet. Word-coloured lens. And, I liked it. I was making the point that my poetry  - from teen years to now - has changed over time. Certainly, the way I write, has. It has become more ...mature, as is wont to happen with growth. Also, that through the word-lens, I could see the metamorphosis I had undergone. More than one, in fact. So, recording the fact of change - and how. In a more succinct way (the tweet): "Weird to behold metamorphosis through word-coloured lens. Core things remain- of course. I love thickly. Always have;always will. #PoemsToPC."

July has seen me typing these poems I've had over the years stashed away in note books and on folder leaves and post-its and jammed-printer paper and the clean side of fliers... Anything I could get my hands on when I needed to put pen or pencil to paper right away. Undertaking this compilation has been thrilling - funny, enlightening and thrilling. (Hoping to get it done for a book of poetry titled: "Fourteen to Forty: The Formative Years." Praying for God's guidance in that.) Now, the plan was to type about four to six per night. However, I think because there is some relief that my mind isn't at work creating the poems, there is ease in "just transcribing" and I get carried away to nine. Then I round it off. To ten.

Perhaps I'll share a bit more about the kind of change undergone in subsequent posts for July. We'll see. Before I go on to typing tonight's set, however, I wanted to share two poems with you. The first, at 17yo; the other at 41. (Maybe the book should be called Fourteen to Fortyish. Tee hee.) Anyway, take a look at what I mean. (And, the common "without" is sheer buck-up.)

Without Electricity

In that flame I see you
And I see me
Sitting by that same flame
Saying that we see each other.

The black wick symbolizes
The hard and trying times we go through
But, there is always hope
As the blue flame shows
And it leaps up into
That pyramid of bright light
Depth of sheer peace and joy.

- Dnafcnatgada

We had a laugh the other night as I read that one to sis @MizDurie, remarking that it was a long time JPS (Jamaica's electricity provider) had been treating us to power cuts. As I mentioned in a tweet to them: "Thanks JPS! Inspiring poetry and bringing lovers together (in the dawk) for over 85 years!" Lol! Anyway, here, now, is the other. 

Without the Kill

The nape of my neck is all aflame
As the sun's rays beat down
The hem of my blouse flutters
Responding to the whiff of breeze
That takes the slightest edge 
Off the heat.

I am wrapped in a heat
That cannot be ignored.
Too tightly wound, I am
Unable to move.

Hot and breezy
Trapped. Uneasy.
Like the way you have me going
Friend to lover

It's how you make me feel hope
Yet hopeless
How you hold me
But without caress
How you kiss me. Hard.
Without the kill

And, killing me softly
Without the will
To love me
Back to life.

- Dnafcnatgada

Don't ask. Really. But, see what I mean?


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