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A sacrifice to the gods of mundane
A Sacrifice to the Gods of Mundane
by Laura Summerville Reed
Words forgotten, time gone
Images in my mind still
Crisp as apples in my teeth
Committed to paper
Now
Committed to the earth
Decayed
Rusty spirals, binding nothing
No more rosy-prosy, pretty things from here
They were dark, metaphorical things
They were the fruit flies drowned
In my Spanish red wine
They were the moon
That controlled the tide
At the most inconvenient times
They were never-spoken names
With bits of me attached
And
I
Threw them out
If I died while my children were young
Who could blame me then?
One must protect what is precious
Especially oneself
Born from the womb of my mind
The first velvet ache where life is conceived
Like flesh pressed into flesh
My pen pressed to the paper
Uncertain of the things
That compelled the act
But sure the act would be all I need
Then
I
Tossed you away
To keep the peaceable kingdom
I censored myself
Sliced my own tongue
Carved pretty words with a sword
Into the side of my cheek
To sing my babies to sleep
And sacrificed my first born
To the gods of mundane
And their last memory of me
Was a sardonic smile
And the incense of a garbage pyre
©LSR 2010
Comments
When the urge to first write comes upon us, most of us hide from the view of others too shy to claim our role as a writer and too afraid someone might think our product unworthy. The spoken word is lost in time as quickly as its sound but the written word lingers and should be contemplated. Once the aspiring writer comes out into the light, the regret that they bring with them is usually the creations they threw away in rash judgment. All who sustain at it and grow soon learn that we write for ourselves and share it with others both for scrutiny and enjoyment. The ability and desire to create and imagine comes only to a few, cherish it. WB
we do tend to spill our guts when we right, and sometimes what is squiggled on the pages is not appropriate for others to read. It's the brilliance captured between the lines sometimes that makes our writing all worthwhile. great hub, I can relate. There are many things I have written that will never see the light of day. They end up in my woodstove, as kindling to warm my bones. ~~MFB III
Every poem that is painted with soul is a portrait of the artist, not of the reader. Sometimes the artist knows he created something that is not to be shared, and experience is simply the name we give our mistakes. Good job Laura. x CC
- Author
Wayne, I do so regret the the loss of the volumes and volumes that are now gone. Ahh well, thank you my friend, for reading these.
MFB III, good, bad or indifferent - I may change, rewrite, retitle, move lines or whole stanzas and edit in a dozen different ways but unless by accident, I will never destroy another thing that I commit to this, now cyber paper. Thank you for your insight and wonderful comment.
Charlie, you reaffirm what I already know - No matter how well prepared I make my debut, it will not be well received. As always, I thank you, my dear man.
My briefest poem 'Springs From the Seed', that I've had for quite some time, is a sort of ode to the rebirth of my writing and verbally expressing oneself, in general.
Keep all of your words like treasures, Lalesu-they are!
- Author
Thank you, lorlie...I will dearly hold them as I cast them far and wide.
I discovered boxes of poetry written by my mother when I was young. I never knew she wrote and when she realized she was discovered, she did something with them and I never saw them again. I have a lifetime of memories, but what I would give to have gotten a glimpse into her soul. As Mother's Day approaches I will remember the poem that was her life--my voice a legacy of selfless love. Thanks for the imagery Laura.
- Author
Ahh, Winsome - yes, we mothers are so terribly predictable, aren't we? I do hope she didn't destroy them and you may find them again, one day. Along with selfless love, she's also passed along her gift of writing to you. Thank you for stopping by and sharing a moment with me.
"They were the fruit flies drowned in my Spanish red wine"
Time flies like an arrow! Fruit flies like Spanish red wine!
- Author
Very clever, Micky Dee. You made me lol, : ) Thanks.
Wow, I'm blown away!
Laura - this was some great writing and I fully identify! I have shelves full of wire-bound note books now from the past few years. But the stuff I did before then I have lost only to have fragments lodged in my memory fuelling the slight sadness of the loss.
But, je ne regrette rien pas!
Love and peace
Tony
- Author
habee, I am blown away by your comment, thank you so very much!
tonymac, I'm pleased you enjoyed it, thank you very much for the wonderful compliment and may you never have any regrets!
See how you are growing here? I said you were great. Affirmation of same is here. You can only go up now. xox
- Author
Charlie, my dear man, I still intend to post something truly atrocious and see just how windy, wonderfully you will compliment me, haha! and I graciously thank you!
Waiting with bated breath my dear. xox
- Author
Haha! You win, I give. Everything I think to write down taste of sweet, cream butter on my tongue. You'll have to wait until I'm sappy in love or some such nonsense as that, I suppose.
What an incredible conveyor from the soul. You leave me wanting to come back for more. My journey has begun, so lead me sweet lady into the caverns of your creative thoughts. I will hunger to be satisfied, like licking my fingers of sweet chocolate.
- Author
Ahhh, dear SR, it is my great hope that you will be back. Now that I've been compared to chocolate, that leaves only red wine and Rainier cherries, and I may die a happy woman, indeed! It is my pleasure to create a thought if the rewards are compliments such as yours!
Your words carry such power - even when you throw them away. You have a wonderful gift!
- Author
Oh! SilverGenes, thank you, they may never be beautiful babies, but I will never throw them away, again. I'm not sure why, but it cost too dearly.
Tossed away, but never forgotten...
- Author
Yes, it's still a bit like discussing the merits of a fine wine rather than drinking it.
Lovely lovely title - the reason why I stopped here for a visit on my way back to Mars. I will tell my people about people like you - I think here on earth - the term is 'superstar' .....
You are a creative anomaly who loves words and words have a love affair with you. I am just an alien but I'm a fast learner because of people like you!
- Author
Oh, kind sir! To have the virtues of my writing extolled on another planet! and I thought reaching the moon would be my greatest accomplishment, haha!
This is indeed a wonderful compliment. To be called 'superstar' in terms of my writing is, well, a most stellar feeling! Thank you so much!
you are anything but mundane - you are just simply marvelous and it's obvious that words are your best friend!
And it gives me an excuse to see the sun shining again in that smile of yours......
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My dear Epigramman, thank you, once again. Your compliments are too generous and I will surely never live up to them.
I really like the images you so eloquently paint with your words. Very nice, lalesu ~
G
- Author
Hello Gerg, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you so very much. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
I search the scars that mar the inner most part of my being and wonder how many were the results of futile sacrifices to the god of the mundane.
The words of this poem has thrown me into personal reflection. Which is always a good thing. Great job, Laura. You could write Mary had a little lamb.... and I would think it was great but this may be the best one I have read so far.
- Author
Oh Sam, thank you. There is something to be said for the security and peace of the everyday, ordinary tasks and expectations that come with the responsibilities in life, but it's a shame that it's at the expense of creativity and individuality sometimes.
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