Scratch That

Rain clouds swelled the horizon
Filling spacious skies and idle minds
With the emptiness of yester-year’s aspirations
Did I absentmindedly forget to tell her something?

That didn’t come out right, scratch that.

Willy Billy sat pelted by the enterprise
Of a thousand calculations in class
No equation, nothing working
His thoughts obfuscated, by unrelated her

Scratch that.

Bones and cans, ploughshares and caves
Moods and daydreams, flowers and mud
Runaway with courage, face head-on while hiding
Disease, fun, branches, intellectualization, stains and buoys

Scratch that.

The shores of time erased
My footprints in the sand
Will no one remember me?
Where am I going, who am I?
If not for the delicate leaf
That fell at my feet
From a slight breeze in the wind
My deepest breath of hope
Would have been lost

Scratch that.

Tiny, teeny, bug crawling
Your strange eye, eyes
Antennae and miniature black spikes
Shell body and mind with motives
Are we thinking alike?

Scratch that.

Soft wave of her light brown hair
Hazel gaze where her skin shies
Tender cheekbones
And her desire burns, secretly

Scratch that.

Our love is like a document
Sent by a company to divulge important information
We have formatted text together
And the paper is loud when printed and shaken vigorously
When our words are finished
Someone can click the save button
And we can be stored together
In a file folder, forever


My poetry isn’t coming out right today.

Maybe there’s something Freudian going on here.

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5 Responses to Scratch That

  1. noranoir says:

    Actually, it was all very nice. And HUGE props to you. The word “obfuscate” has been swirling around in my head the last several days, and I kept telling myself it was too awkward a word to work into poetry. But you pulled it off quite nicely.

    When a word, thought, anything sticks in my head that long, I figure it means something and try to make something out of it. Maybe having read it just now was the fix.

    • LK says:

      Thank you, you’ve surprised me here; we all feed off each other’s work in some way or another, a sort of poetic cannibalism, maybe driving each other to create.

      Depending on how my brain happens to be clicking, a word will materialize that feels right; and to think I was about to hit delete on this post, but I’m glad I didn’t now.

  2. jnanarama says:

    My favorite type of poetry to write (and read) is a good lyrical analogy. Or maybe I mean metaphor. So, while appreciating the unique structure of it, and the stream of consciousness style, the last part is my fave.

  3. LK says:

    Jnanarama, blogging is tough on the brain; I wanted to quit blogging, but as someone who wants to keep in practice with word flow, blogging helps me. Reading about your experience with your new friends and being detached from the net is wonderful, don’t go blogging for my sake. But your visits are greatly appreciated, and I hope things go superbly with your schooling.

  4. jnanarama says:

    Thank you. It’s nice to feel welcome.

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