Poetry

Today's blog is a reflection on poetry, my poetry, so for all those interested check out my stuff! AND please feel free to comment on what you like and dislike, would much appreciate it. 

The following is three poems, the first is an original draft, the second is a revised version of draft one, and the third is another revised version of draft one. Which do you guys prefer!?

Draft 1

Screaming

There is screaming in the meadows

As the songs of the past are fretted upon

By the singers of today.

There is screaming so loud that the

Glass shatters and is broken so deeply that

It does not cut but melt in the hands

Of those who no longer wish to seek

Pieces but (w)holes,

and not ones that

Gap into the future,

But like a gifted prize

Grow outward and inward at once.

 

Though deep in the heart of any singer

There is the knowledge that

Such semblance is almost impossible,

An ethereal feat of grandeur, an enigma of harmonies

So deeply touching the caress is almost violent.

They realize screaming will suffice,

Will count amongst the remnants of harmonies

And days gone by;

Misdirected hopes are fretted upon

As the wisdom to realize

That holding on to melting glass

Will only deter from the knowledge

That comes with release.

Screamers always coming out on top.

And though the world is not divided into singers and screamers

Though they are not opposites of any kind

Though both singing and screaming are heart bound

To find a place in the heart where words no longer

Categorize would annihilate the very function

Of singing or screaming

As for the purpose of this poem

I sincerely hope that whoever you are

You are somewhere screaming

So loudly it sounds like song. 

Draft 2

Mourning

There is screaming in the meadows

So loud that

Grass splints and

The yellow dandelions tilt their heads downwards;

The meadow emerging from the noise with no sense of

Location.

There are those bent over broken tree limbs,

There are others that nurse the wilting flowers with tears,

All of them no longer wish to seek

Pieces of a puzzle

But (w)holes,

That do not

Gap into the future,

But like a gift from heaven

Grow outward and inward at once.

Draft 3 

Wailing Woman

“Sad as it was that she did not know where her children were buried or what they looked like if alive, fact was she knew more about them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like.” Toni Morrison Beloved

The wailing woman screams so loud that the

Glass is broken so deeply that

It does not cut but melt in the hands

Of those who no longer wish to see

Clarity melting.

Her song is like a gifted prize

That grows outward and inward at once.

The enigma of harmonies rests in her screaming

Which is so deeply touching its caress is violent.

Screaming will suffice,

Will count amongst the remnants of melodies  

And days gone by without them;

Her misdirected hopes

Are fretted upon every note

She knows that holding on to melting glass

Deters from the knowledge

That comes with its release.

But heart bound are the songs sung by screamers;

As the wailing woman in black,

Knees floored to the ground,

Screams in the form of song.