Ode to struggle (Words)

Somewhere between Sunday to Tuesday, I played around with some derivative poetry writing based on Hastyword’s poem “Struggle  posted a little while ago. This is the original larger experimental poem from which Brave whom never stop was a sneak peak (an experiment in itself).

In writing the poem based on lines from Hasty’s poem “Struggle“, what I did was I dropped the first word of each line for the most part, and the rest of each line formed the start of the first line to each stanza/verse. A bit of rhyming goes on all over the place, but from the second verse on the last word in the fourth line was always rhymed with the last word of the second line in the preceding verse. Plus the last line in each is always intended to deal with a relationship in and towards words, until near the end.

Mountain view

This is the sort of writing I find myself caught by from time to time when the creative mind collides with the other parts of the way it thinks. Not exactly a clear poem in the way it represents itself, but the layers tend to cross over as translator lines form links within the experiment as it travels. Just me saying, hope it makes some kind of sense as you read the lines.

An experiment, and exploration in derivative writing, while shaping the physics of how the poem flows.

Ode to struggle (Words) Working title for the experiment.

Called to me in a million places
Can you free your feet from wooden shackles
To seek the tell tale fable waking
Before to catch the spin of words upon faces

A sunken grave beneath a vaulted stone
Hear the whistles of the leopard trees
Scared in nature, they’re scared by thieves
The words dare not hinder as tree bark crackles

Physical form rests far deep in age
Where each we listen beyond a page
Running our hands upon a story’s skin
Tread careful words plant small seeds

By earth’s air waters sweet no sleep
Dreams between no dollar needed
Something soon will turn those feet
Out from underneath these words no sage

Caked eyes chase no fear upon cotton rag
For the bold moments in black ink hands
To fashion charcoal colours of red plain hues
Not lost for words in the many stitches beaded

Her cries wake like storms held near to touch
Stretching across the darkness in a vast lost
Gulping a night air rising slow, streaming cold
Few words they press her lips to take a stand

Her skies they open up to fresh delights
Like honey rain harvest moon’s born dew
Fresh days of a flower’s Spring love in fright
Where in glacial rivers new words in frost

Her tries to cross old lines in seeping dust
Upon tall Huon (trees) these ancient tales here rest
Deep within her bones of rain drenched earth
Such words crave new thoughts a sun dry few

More chances take her stifled freedoms
Amongst the molten now ravaged lands
Blindness to deserted nightmares cold
Pass between the lanes of words abreast

Cut short beneath the boughs of trees
Till sitting high up in the branches gazes
While the storm birds they call your name
Buried in a language without words or hands

From sleep a new day brings isolation first
Tap to the thought the scents to senses
It that breakfast drifting from deep below
No can it be the taste of words like mazes

Can hear her speak the nightmare’s dream
For even they here do not wish to scream
Nightmares with their hollow dreams so loud
Deafening words they shatter our defenses

Is a part of me that breaks somewhere deep
Beyond any one inch surface cold the ice
Blue the light of untainted water breaks solid
Float two thirds the words we one day dream

She is me a name before awaiting birth
A name I shall not whisper first to light
But night where the atmosphere sounds
Their words thick in moisture’s wild vice

I sleepwalk in the dead of day’s long shadow
Face to face in the fleeting vacant moment
Hide not from the change we wreck upon
Every act of words in favour to set to write

This eternity of the weight above gives
Little to feel akin toward deafening parts
To carry out on a curled green leaf boat
These troubled words frame no lament

Inside of day we must make clean away
For they soon will follow us to the ends
Where sail billow stained the in red dust
In times disintegrating words their art

Consumed by night as if a snow flake
Upon a tongue to melt into darkness
Here to wait in the faint light of shadows
To encompass the words finding bends

Keep her in a coffin etching upon glass
Within the art to break foul swift to breech
Walls of unknown numbers to tumble them
Free releases of words in rivers swollen press

Meaning me in the folds end between time
At the grasp of the another’s own set ways
Make to your feet set flight rather to sit still
For long short will the words tilt turn speech

My skin tainted by scars where age passes
A swift slow waltz beckons rather a lindy hop
Set to trade wind spices of song and dance
Can any words travel further in passing days

Cold ground makes rough the time of dreams
Each to struggle to find the heart’s natural space
Some place not known but there for all to see
No not this fear of words to the brave never stop

Sleep sound wake fresh
Scream loud struggle fierce
Live again in every ounce that is you… Everyday!

5 responses to “Ode to struggle (Words)

    • It is different, and I’ve still not gone back to edit. It took probably about six hours over three days to work through. It felt intense while writing, but I’m not sure of it’s expression. A new direction, possibly… At the moment I’m thinking of it as being a little like fertile black volcanic soil. In the dry it opens, cracks up letting air deep beneath the surface, and when it rains, it expands, closes up, sticking to your boots to weigh a ton as you lift each foot to take a step…

  1. Pingback: Thursday Poetry Prompt #15 Results! | We Drink Because We're Poets·

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