Thursday, 8 March 2012

The Perils of alcohol

 Molten sunrise creeps over porcelain
 Fingers snatching at the corners of death
 (Oh) Lord! Give me the strength to lie down again

Molten sunrise creeps over porcelain
 Etiolate washes down albumen
 fields of alveoli, gasping for breath

Molten sunrise creeps over porcelain
Fingers snatching at the corners of death

15 comments:

  1. ugh...having had a father who drank, i can really feel this..

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  2. wow, amazing word choices here, fields of alveoli, gasping for breath- what a remarkable line. Great job. Thanks

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  3. Very well written. So glad you shared!

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  4. the middle stanza is just wickedly written..you nailed this in imagery and in emotion...very well done...

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  5. I wrote of alcoholism as well. This is marvelously penned!

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    1. Thanks for commenting. My poem was more of a poke at overdoing it on a night out and less serious. I tried to comment on yours but couldn't? I thought your poem was tastefully written. The much more serious repercussions of alcoholism and the dreadful acts that follow. Told in the quiet voice of one who, is told not to tell x

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  6. this was the perfect way to utilize this form, the imagery and message perfectly laid through this! ~ Rose

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  7. A potent use of the triolet... good composition.

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  8. Agree with Sam; the hot molten sun that I see running over a white porcelain saucer on a counter, skin blanched to that color, lungs unable to oxygenate..yes cigarettes and whisky and a morning coffee chaser. Think you nailed it and this ain't no country song either!
    Classy.

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    1. ha yes, absolutely! Molten sunrise, I'm afraid, is rather more putrid than that, as too is the porcelain. The different interpretations of those make me chuckle :)

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  9. I like the repetition of the first line. It's lyrical and somewhat primal. Like one of those ancient chants.

    I was going to say something about how the use of "lung" imagery evokes something more spiritual (the way the life was breathed into the first people) even if it is about alcoholism but I'm not sure if that was what you were going for. I guess I'm trying to say its almost ritualistic in a way. Like once a person is hooked on alcohol, it almost becomes their religion.

    Something like that. I'm probably way off with this reading. The good thing about interpretation is there isn't a right answer. Either way, it's very good.

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  10. "fields of alveoli, gasping for breath"

    Wow.

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  11. Beautifully written words on worshipping the porcelain goddess ... and to fit etoliate and alveoli into the same poem ... brava ... a very clever and unique triolet

    http://thepoet-tree-house.blogspot.com/2012/03/grief-leaves-heart.html

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  12. How many times I was here in your poem long ago now. When the repetition comes, it's like a death knell.

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