Underground

Cherry

By onemorething

Mon, 27 Jan 2020
  • 1707 reads
9 comments
 

We adapt ourselves, bend ourselves

to circumstances; as a mole, my velvet coat,

its gentle nap could brush this way or that,

my subterranean thoughts concealed

until I forgot the existence of light or mornings,

until my eyes became small and useless

and reality distorted.

And the juggernaut of my anxiety screeches

that it is myself that I must be reconciled to

as I burrow past the roots of memories - 

some of them, the tirrits of ravens' wings 

that fan their darkness, 

others, the shuddered uncoil of earthworms,

ghosts who slip their pale search for deliverance 

beside me in this chthonic universe

where my polydactyl paws grasp now

to feel everything.

 

Image from pixabay.

 

Certificate U
Poem
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I like this one very much. Well, not like, because it is grim. Admire. The idea of earthworms being like memories in the tunnels of your mind and "uncoil of earthworms" is wonderful.

"thoughts concealed

until I forgot the existence of light or mornings,

until my eyes became small and useless

and reality distorted." this is a bad place to be, I hope you are out of there now, that this is what the last lines mean?

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Di, it is quite grim, I know. Not really sure how I feel about moles, as is probably clear! I always wanted to see one when I was a child though, looking at molehills. Your comment is so caring, thank you for that, yes, past those feelings now for sure. Still have my anxiety juggernaut to keep me company, but still, all is well. Thank you for your kindness in asking and for reading my earthworm eating poem. :)

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

I'm glad :0)

Yes, I always wanted to see one too, there was something magic about how you never do. Years later Mum's cat caught one, I was suprised how tiny it was! It didn't bite or scratch when I picked it up, just wriggled in a muscly way it was SO SOFT. I put it next to a mole hill (I hope it was a friend's, if not its own!) and by the time I'd come back from chasing away the cat, it had gone. Like magic :0)

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Oh. How lucky to have seen one. And held one. Though in unfortunate circumstances for the mole. I expect your mum's cat was pretty surprised too. I imagine they are very muscly little things, and soft, I think they've had a few fur coats made out of them sadly in the past. They are quite magical in the way they are so hidden, you're right. I hope my cat never gets any funny ideas about mole hills and they stay well concealed. :)

 

Submitted by Di_Hard on

yes, you must be right - that was why she let me take it from her!

 

Submitted by drew_gummerson on

I love this one too. To describe a person as a mole is unusual but fits perfectly and then you carry it on through the whole poem. And what you say is true - if we burrow ourselves our reality does become distorted, and memories invade...

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thanks Drew! Moles are a bit of an odd thing to write a poem about, I know, some of my ideas are a bit strange so am glad the meaning was clear regardless. I think creatures that live underground are bizarrely interesting in their adaptations, or all those species that have adapted the lightless caves...blind cave fish coming up! :)

 

Submitted by drew_gummerson on

Bit strange is perfect for me. And I like that your poems have a specific style - they are very you, your voice - good I think when you are putting a collection together. 

 

Submitted by onemorething on

Thank you. And well, yes, I am talking to someone who writes fantastic tales about the psychic possibilities of bum cheeks... :)