Smidgens
Posted on November 11, 2020 by Elan Mudrow
Cold Floor
The dust scurries, moves, hides
My fingers take the pulse of linoleum
Wax, dirt, desire, finish, surface, sealer, room
Remnants of a shine, dried bugs, skeleton specks
We were the warmth, the life, the struggle, the stumble
Lying there as outlines of life, to live, to grasp, to want all
I turn my palm upwards, as if to control something that’s gone
Wasn’t the air the heaviest that night? It pressed us down, held us
What we left is now unlocked—floor-less space— abandoned, for rent
Cold Floor
As if it has misplaced the words
My spine. I cannot lay flat upon you
Your plastic skin has been manufactured
Pain was not real, that night, or any other night
Only sweat, evaporating quickly, losing all speech
Lost all signs, signifiers, meaning and meat, bone and skin
We are candy wrappers skinned sweet, scent of survival absurd
We could not stay there, it isn’t ours, it belongs to larger rooms, housed
Tile that mingles, holding galaxies, universes at bay, the floor is spinning
Cold floor
My feet are getting dirtier, dirtier
We cleaned together, clung to our heaviness
I am a crumpled paper, phone number named me
Our bodies—gravity, whirled—beneath polished sim skin
Sunk in masks—pushed up, propping an arm upon us all
We came here for the moments, motions, our starving plans
Pieces of tile, adhered, adorned, measured, while yet becoming
Worlds are found in rooms, they are claws scratching, patch of tile
We remember the feeling of the room, the air, our bodies, the cool, cool, cool, cool
(Art from Twin Lakes, Oregon)
Category: PoetryTags: Author, Demons, Desire, Emotions, Love, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Sex, Witchcraft, Writer, Writing
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Wonderful to experience your words again in this difficult time of global pandemic. Different losses now but deep feelings flow on. ❤
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I appreciate your critique and understand what you say, but I offer you this. If we read The Waste Land, The Four Quartets, by Eliot or Cantos by Pound, or even better yet, these poets, Shakespeare, Dante, Ovid, etc, etc. etc., we find out that what you are saying is just wrong. From my perspective, poetry and writing can be whatever it wants to be, short, long, whatever. That’s at the heart of what’s called creativity. Thanks for reading. Take care.
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Thanks Tara
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P.S.: The lines getting longer is a clever idea, but I’m not sure what it signified, rhythm-wise. My mind is not as quick as it used to be.
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Love the thought you are attempting to express and doing so at times. I think poetry is expression with as few words as possible, using only those words that express all. Eliminate those unnecessary words. Remember that pace and rhythm has its place, as well. My poor attempt at trying to help as you probably know more than I do.
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I love this Elan.
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Thanks Susan!
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This poem leaves me in awe! Delicious imagery!
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Considerable write, in both contrasting images and imagery and format -they all worked with those killer thoughts and your uniqueness.
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Thanks
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So glad I found your blog. Your poetry is raw and deliciously real. “My palm takes the pulse of linoleum,” love this line!
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I enjoyed this poem.
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This is soulful. I felt every line!
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Loved this poem – edgy, emotional, wonderfully descriptive. I could feel myself lying on the floor!
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I love this poem of yours. Not only the way you write it so beautiful, but I noticed that it is almost stairs-like phrases written on the page as if you paint it that way. 🙂
Lovely!
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I love the diction in this piece. Absolutely riveting imagery.
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Thanks for following my blog, and for letting me in on the poetic awesomeness that’s going on here. If the pictures aren’t intriguing enough, the words are downright mesmerizing. I’m looking forward to ongoing raptness. =)
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Deeply moving and magnificent
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You have just spoken to me in feelings. Thanks so much.
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So very excellent. I love the line I…a crumpled paper, phone number named me. If I could speak in feelings then I could say how your poetry impacts me. ❤
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Very Cool!!
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Excellent! Love the contrast between the photos and symbology of the floor.
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A very powerful and moving poem, and heart-rending, but your emotion didn’t take from your structural control or skill. wonderful stuff!
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Agreed
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Thanks!
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I love the structure of this poem…it adds to the ‘jaggedness’ of it. The line “We are a candy wrapper skinned sweet, scent of survival absurd” gives insane imagery (plus contrast of candy versus peeling of skin) and the dissonance used hear is just so easy and beautiful to read, it’s effortless.
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Reblogged this on Music is Real and commented:
Touching!
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Glancing at that picture while reading those first words was almost hypnotic. Awesome.
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