I wake
as if in a strange bed
the walls rearrange
themselves in the night
after too much coffee
I kick off my shoes
pace lingo-listless
between the lines
of the ceiling and floor
like a caged bird
I file my nails
twiddle my thumbs
sharpen all my pencils
sharpen kitchen knives
a knife thrower
must find satisfaction
in the crack of blade
after blade in wood
the fraying of splinters
as far as jelly jars go
they frighten me
Ball, Mason
those pot metal lids
so tight with corrosion
Tess Kincaid
July, 2011
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your words always intice me to dream...
ReplyDeleteOh, neat! Thanks for: poem reading picture! A p,leasure.
ReplyDeleteIs there such a thing as too much coffee?? lol
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteLove it!
One of your finest, Tessy.
Unpredictable flow.
Thanks, Phil. That means so much coming from you, my friend. x
ReplyDeleteMy wife has a great many of those jars taking up space in the shed.
ReplyDeleteHasn't used a jar in twenty years!
I would like to use those jars for target practice, but, alas, then she'd used me for target practice!!
I'm with Otin, is there really such a thing as too much coffee?
ReplyDeleteLoved your take on this one... interesting transitions throughout your write.
coffee and the thunk of knives into wood, yeah i get you...mason jars, its what comes in them that scares me...bad night, long ago...
ReplyDeleteInteresting dream, Tess. The photo is so much like a dream, but I took it a different way.
ReplyDelete—Kay, Alberta, Canada
Thanks, Kay, this one's not a dream, though.
ReplyDeleteWonderful stream of consciousness going round in cycles here, Tess.
ReplyDeleteThe adrenalin is flowing
ReplyDeleteIllustrators; don't you love them? Any excuse for a naked lady!
ReplyDeleteYour imagination and the way you make the words fit the vision is faultless.
ReplyDeleteThis is a poem I read in different ways and it gave pleasure in every way.
Great imagination in this.
ReplyDeleteIt frustrates me to try and unwind a rusted metal top. The answer is plastics! Plastics is safe, without danger of corrosion. Beautiful verse!
ReplyDeleteWillow,
ReplyDeleteCoffee, sultry, stifling summer nights loosen the psyche to free flight of ideas.
If not rest, at least poetry.
rel
Yup there is such a thing as too much coffee, well there is with me anyhows.
ReplyDeleteLove this Tess.. you're so clever with words.
darn fine writin
ReplyDeletesuper dee dooper
you don't find carrots like that on every blog
let alone one with the words feat and low man in it.
huh?
plus
on top of that
and to the left right
left
parsimminy
(see master of all masters for reference text).
i like to take all the jelly out
with a big spoon
plop it on a flat plate
and eat the jar
before the jelly can
plop flat and
seep
off
the
plate
onto
my
leg.
I love this, too. Very unique. : )
ReplyDeleteI really like the way you laid out/broke up the lines. Love the idea of the lines of pacing between the ceiling and floor. the crack of the blade into the wood. Images and sounds both.
ReplyDeleteAnon, what a treat! Thank you.
ReplyDeleteAnxiety,anxious and visceral. Intent yours, observations mine so I like what this evokes as I read it.Well done mate!
ReplyDeleteTess -- fine piece -- enjoyed -- barbara
ReplyDeleteYou usual excellent poem Tess. But I have to say that when the walls rearrange themselves in the night it is after too much beer rather than too much coffee.
ReplyDeleteTess~ An overly caffeinated mind jumps around a lot... I love how you've presented this piece like that with such vivid images.
ReplyDeleteTess - loved the poem, but I must say the recording was a bit creepy. What were you really drinking?
ReplyDeleteIt's been nothing but dog days here all summer.
ReplyDeleteOh how you can paint a picture with your words...
ReplyDeleteNice one. What is it about jars that makes you hang onto them? I've got loads for the day I make jam or chutney, but I never do.
ReplyDeleteDog days of summer can make us as stir crazy in the South as the cold winters do you. I pace inside my air conditioned home.
ReplyDeleteI liked this very much. Don't usually read before I write, got stuck. Perhaps your write will inspire me?
ReplyDeleteAs usual, Tess, clever and inventive.
ReplyDeleteThe lack of punctuation means that this poem can be read in many ways - most interesting and the imagery, as ever, is spot on.
ReplyDeleteThe dog days are keeping us all cooped up inside too much. You remind me of Maya Angelou's 'I know why the caged bird sings'.
ReplyDeleteBall jars always remind me of the poor lightening bugs trapped in them. They should all be set free to shine their beautiful lights.
I loved this one! The image of the jelly jars brought back memories of afternoons at my friend's house and her mom making us help her can tomatoes! I used to hate it! Now I look back fondly.
ReplyDelete"the walls rearrange
ReplyDeletethemselves in the night". Now that is poetry!
As for jars and stuff, my advice is to quit writing your poetry in the kitchen!
love love love the randomness. I am soooo feeling it today!
ReplyDeleteimpressive story.
ReplyDeletecheer.
I like the restless mood you have created in this poem. Wanted to pace the room after reading it.
ReplyDeleteGiggle, Ford, I do write my poetry in the kitchen. It's starting to show, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteBeautiful! I have been away from Willow Manor for far too long!
ReplyDelete"tt begins to tell,
ReplyDelete'round midnight, midnight ..."
Those Mason jars are tightlipped, though.
I love the poster, and yet
ReplyDeleteit's rococo impressionism
makes me randy, but would
it keep me awake? I do not
connect to it from your words,
and it could be I am too thick,
or using men's eyes; or maybe
it is just another departure point,
a place for more magpies to burst
from, your words, that image, a
vast world of poetic possibilities.
Your run-on thoughts, described as
an "unpredictable flow" take
us on several journeys within
the steamy illusionary fitful
hours of non-sleep, following
the midwest swelter of another
dog day. I like the last lines:
/those pot metal lids/ so
tight with corrosion/.
Glenn, my take on the prompt is from the star Sirius; the ancient belief that Sirius, also called the Dog Star, in close proximity to the sun was responsible for the hot "dog days" of summer.
ReplyDeleteMarcheline, hee hee hee!
ReplyDeleteI really love the opening stanzas. As for jelly jars - I'm with you!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful frames of still life details. Kitchen is the perfect room for your writing. My favorite of yours, so far.
ReplyDeleteLove your poem-- intense and beautifully crafted, Tess. Hope you don't mind that I linked today to an elegy for the Norway victims and will work w/ the prompt later today...xxxj
ReplyDelete“a knife thrower
ReplyDeletemust find satisfaction
in the crack of blade
after blade in wood
the fraying of splinters”
..you had me with those lines... wish i could have thought the same... adorable!:)
~Kelvin
I love the pace of this poem an the last stanza is AMAZING!
ReplyDeleteA true fever dream from a master...thanks!!
ReplyDeleteThis one's something special, Tess.
ReplyDeleteI spend far too many nights awake but it isn't the coffee that's responsible. I do love coffee - but it has to be strong..like a French dark roast - or Kenyan - or Sumatra, something like that. Sleep is hard to come by with all my aches and pains. I thrash and turn and moan...better to be up and reading your great poetry!
ReplyDeletewas just contemplating exploding mason jars yesterday after reading an article about putting up preserves.
ReplyDeletesometimes the mundane kitchens of our dreamscapes contain more dread than a circus full of knife throwers...
tight with corrosion - the words are visible!
ReplyDeleteAlways always a pleasure.
ReplyDeleteThank you so very much for your lovely, generous comments, dear friends. As always, I appreciated your readership. You are the best.
ReplyDeleteJust what is it about those lids? They feel funny, they sound funny.
ReplyDeleteYour poem is perfect for the Dog Days of Summer!!
i love this tess....
ReplyDeletehappy to stop by today, my friend
kary and teddy
xx
knifes are much easier to deal with than mason jars - tight and so resrictive....bkm
ReplyDeletebkm, my point, precisely.
ReplyDeleteTess, A little syncronicity here. I published this account of my aunt's Oklahoma Farm featuring the old barn a few days before your post. http://grandmasunday.blogspot.com/2011/07/summer-visits-to-farm.html
ReplyDeleteDear Tess: Been feeling it; "tight with corrosion" too. Is it midsummer drone that makes the humid air combust? Do hope I'm not rusting; feel it though. I'd whip those nasty mason/ball jars too; saver than knives for the untrained knife thrower! Excellent metaphors for dolldrum heat!
ReplyDeleteI love how your words paint such vivid pictures. Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteWow! That picture certainly pedalled your mind off down a side alley! Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteAlways an experience...
ReplyDeleteOnce the lid is open, let the pleasure begin – it is all good.
ReplyDelete