I want to write a poem
And I want to write a book
And I can see the scenes
within purple splatters
I can see the people moving
And the swish of the dancer's skirts
The crimson of murder
Darkness where it lurked
I can see the laughter,
the hanging chandelier,
furious hands and black eyes
and swirls of every emotion
I see the old leather,
the nicks in wooden canes
The sly hands of thieves
and the smirk of tricksters
I know what they look like
And what they are called
and how they feel and
smell and sound
I know the words they are called,
but they never come together
How can my mind be bound
into old, worn leather?
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141,073 Literary Works • 674,028 Reviews
I really enjoyed this poem. It resonated with me: the feeling of conceptual lethologica, of having far more ideas than I seem to have language for. The poem captures this frustration with a structure that mirrors disjointed thoughts that don’t quite connect. There are a few instances where the imagery feels broad, such as “swirls of every emotion,” and some of the stronger concrete images could have been developed further. Regardless, the poem does not need to be overly polished to be effective. Its somewhat fragmented quality feels appropriate to its subject. Thank you for the read.