scored and yellow--
under the bed.
In fact--and in spite--
not destroyed--
not dead.
You visit me in dreams, in Winter--
Winter always--
down a frozen well.
Come to this--come to take me--
by the hand--
into Hell.
_______
for Real Toads mini-challenge.
Your current love affair with rhyme proceeds on its devastatingly effective (and beautiful) course here with a stark and eloquent skeletal hand--minimalism is not a tool you often use, yet no one does it better, and reading this is like feeling the chill on your neck of an old nightmare. That first stanza--'in fact--and in spite--dear me!
ReplyDeleteThis is like a concentrate - the essence of a nightmare. Undead bones under the bed is like the monsters of our childhood grown adult.
ReplyDeleteEven if ghosts do not exist, we are haunted by them anyways.
ReplyDeleteThe close hits here like a hammer--with the poem as its anvil--the starkness and simplicity of the whole thing adds to its strength. Chilling in all ways. Thanks for participating, Shay. k.
ReplyDeleteStark and stunning, Shay.
ReplyDeleteBold and brilliant!
ReplyDeleteThis is absolutely stunning!
ReplyDeleteWow - that's some opening line. I have to admit, there's someone whose bones I'd like to reside in a suitcase under my bed. Well, sort of. But I digress. Really powerful poetry, Shay.
ReplyDeleteOn one hand, I think this is about someone you've loved (in an unhealthy way), who manages to lure you back in, time and time again. (The vain circle of time; something like that. Or time circles in vain. You'd have to tell me the precise translation.) There's a coldness in her touch, but you still can't resist it. And the irony is that something as cold as winter, and the frozen water in a well, could lead you toward the heat of hell. Hell certainly represents suffering and torture, but also lust and fire/passion. Sometimes the former is worth enduring if it gets you to the latter.
ReplyDeletedouble meaning in "scored" and "bones" ... and "spite" actually
Oh yes ... on the other hand, you're talking to Time itself, circling you, draining away your youth, taunting you from under the bed, as it waits to take your head below the coffins.
Then your tags offer another likelihood: that your mother's essence still tortures you, no matter how much time and distance you put between you and her.
i like it!
ReplyDeleteGhosts sit by my bedside...or at least at times it feels like they are there with their suitcases of haunting memories.
ReplyDeleteWonderfully chilling, especially the visit in winter down the well.
ReplyDeleteWow! Wasn't expecting that last line, FB. Yes - chilling.
ReplyDeleteYou're another one of those massively gifted women who write more effectively, economically and evocatively than I. You and Mama Zen - I'm proud to be your readers and friggin' jealous of your talent. Still trying to connect. Mosk
ReplyDelete"in Winter....Winter always".....the repetition of that just adds to this chilling piece!
ReplyDeleteYikes! :-( ...well written verse...
ReplyDeleteZQ
so powerful and intense and stunning, Shay!
ReplyDeletei sincerely hope your dreams aren't visited by your mother in the way my mother inhabits my nightmares.
♥