For a poet breathing

is a spiritual endeavor

the essence of being

an existential art form

no science involved

all thoughts deja vu

seeping slowly into

the conscious mind

little bubbles of emotion

escaping uncensored

from a childhood

of intense pain.




View stephen's Full Portfolio
Cascade's picture

Being there is the stuff

Being there is the stuff poems are made of. I like your emotional bubblesSmile

S74rw4rd's picture

I am not familiar with the

I am not familiar with the word in the title, but certainly I have experienced what the poem outlines---especially the last two lines.  I reemember, in the summer of 1968, Life Magazine carried a very excellent article on the origins of Mary Shelley's novel, Frankenstein, focusing primarily on her childhood and the emotional abuse of being told, when she was about three, that she would always be a disappointment to her father.  I turned ten the same month the article was published, and it provided a great deal of comfort.  When I was about five, and not yet known to be nearsighted, my father knocked me down because I could not hit a plastic wffleball, even after a multitude of attempts.  The knockdown did not hurt me near as much as the look of crushing disappointment on my father's face.  Five years later, the article let me know that I was not alone, at least one other person understood the experience, and she had survived it to write a novel that, despite its age, is still in print, and is now recommended in bio-ethics courses as essential reading.