Poetry, like life, is often ambiguous. Deciphering its meaning is both its challenge as well as its reward. In this vein, I can hope you will find your own reward in the following Poem of the Week.
has come and gone. It strong-armed
into sleep, slipped beneath the blood-
brain barrier, insistent, saying
now. Back and back it pushed,
a commonplace come-on,
knife withdrawing from a forked
tongue before touching down
where my thoughts ossified:
I didn’t want to die, don’t, not now,
ringing, self-styled as a bell,
incision scrawled like the crackle
of a loudspeaker. Is this thing on?
Sound gashed, amplified
into the beginning of a bloody horiaon.
- Jim Johnstone
My principle reason for reading your site is that you almost always skip all the academic insistence upon ambiguity as “poetry” and display the real stuff.
It’s understandable that once in a while someone with the letters behind their name which testifiy to their success in bowing to mediocrity will try to convince you that your taste isn’t educated until you can call confusion an emotion and say that “poem” did a great job of inspiring it.
Don’t listen when that happens, my friend. What you do is what we really need.