Vanquished – 3 Word Wednesday

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I am undone.

Routine is whisked away on the winds roaring outside, battering the trees, rattling the windows, bruising the very fabric of the earth. So it has been, for decades.

My days (used to) consist of the familiar, the mundane. Draw water from the well, feed the goats and chickens, wash, eat breakfast, read, write, nap, eat… No different than most, these days. We eke out our existence in isolated homesteads tens of miles apart. A joy before, a chore in these times. I crave companionship. I do not wish to rot here, alone. My mind is a hard taskmaster.

You arrived, unknown and unannounced. Nobody had mentioned you on my last monthly trip round the vicinity. The advent of a stranger does not go unnoticed, does not happen cloaked in silence. Our lives are so predictable, it’s what passes for excitement.

The mists shrouded the house, as if to keep your presence a secret. You stood, framed in my doorway, backlit by an ethereal, muted grey light. You are dressed entirely in black. A cloak, a brimmed hat, sturdy boots.

I gave you shelter, because that’s how we survive, helping one, helping all. Isolation, division and distrust serve no purpose in these times.

You said little. I am used to silence within these four walls. I felt no urge to fill the void for I am gifted in this strength of character. You will tell what is necessary, when the time comes.

And the time has come. And the time is now. I must reciprocate. The urge to do so is intense – it overwhelms me. The air has shifted.

I am undone.

——

This is my latest entry to 3 Word Wednesday and is linked to my entry to Magpie Tales.

This week, the words are:

Gifted

Intense

Rot

It’s dark, yet intriguing, right? What do you imagine is going on?

Bloated – dVerse

Sealed, no, stitched closed,
cotton-mouthed, tongue
sand-papered and glued,
I am bereft of words.
Inside, a war wages
and I am polarised.

A hollow resides in between.

Unable to communicate
the disembowelled,
inarticulate me is silenced.

All I want, all I need,
is to tell you how –
how I gave my all,
fell for you,
and in falling I have
hit the chasm walls,
torn fingernails free
as I reached out to you,
even as you turned away,
and now I am invisible.

I swallow words
– enough to fill a country –
I am obese with all that is unsaid.

———-

This week, on dVerse Meeting the Bar, Brian wants us to write about words – when they fail us, or when they say just what we wanted of them.

I like to think of myself as articulate – in work I am the wordsmith, crafting legal documents, creating something out of nothing, drafting, editing, reviewing, commenting… you get the picture. What I am not so good at (in fact, I am terrible), is expressing my emotions one to one. When it comes to matters of the heart, I am pretty much incapable in that way. If I could resort to communicating by writing things down that would be fine, but in conversation, when it comes to being vulnerable and actually saying ‘I want’ or ‘I need’, then I become mute. The words are there, inside my head, bumping up against one another until they turn to dust. I’m working on it. It’s hard.

This poem attempts to convey this tongue-tied state. I hope it works.

Please pop over to dVerse to read some excellent poems. Join in – we don’t bite!

 

 

Columbine – dVerse

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They scatter, these unwanted words

dripping with sarcasm and vitriol.

 

Tendrils of spite germinate and flourish

entwining whispers and hisses behind hands,

 

as if the very lowering of voice and timbre

will cloak their malfeasance in honey,

 

reduce the bone-grazing cut to a mere abrasion.

Secrets are sprinkled with an eye to inflict

 

damage so deep that recovery requires

strength that Atlas himself would admire

 

even as he carries the world on his shoulders;

this is as nothing to the downward-looking.

 

Wounds of word war-craft cannot be seen,

cannot be photographed, do not reveal themselves

 

as visible evidence in Court No. 1. Yet this abuse too

resonates – and whilst mental scarring also heals

 

much like a bruise, or a bone broken in anger,

it is carried, leaden, inert, hidden:

 

hidden, that is

until the point of no return is reached.

———-

This week, on dVerse Poetics, Shanyn  has asked us to write as if words are seeds. What an interesting idea, not to mention, imaginative!

I’m not quite sure if I have travelled down the right (weed-strewn) path with this one, however, I was keeping plant life in mind as I wrote and, as you can tell, looked at word-seeds sown that really should be kept to themselves. Whilst weeds, I think, are beautiful plants and flowers growing in a place that we humans did not choose, word-seeds of the nasty sort should never be sown at all! Bullying is wrong, irrespective of whether it is physical or mental.

Please pop over to dVerse to see how others have risen to the word-seed challenge – I will be linking up later!

*Columbine, or aquilegia is actually my favourite flower – how ironic that it is poisonous!