Aquas' domain

reminders of feeling

Every now and then I take a look at some of the things I’ve written in the past, mostly, poetry, since it’s about all I write.  Though I haven’t written hardly any at all lately, which is a dying shame.  When I look at some of the poems I wrote in the past, some of them have feelings that were more current to the time I wrote the poem, but others that ring with me when I see them again.  The previous post is about this, but this poem of mine seems most relevant to my writing situation.

Overgrowth Brushed Aside

I check my writing journal
for a door I have opened,
but I haven’t
written for a while,
haven’t opened many doors.

As a writer, I guess I expect
to open up my notebook
to something I had
forgot about writing.

But I haven’t
written for a while,
there are no doors
to the other me
left open.

It makes me sad.

Like the
tombstone
with its
overgrowth,
left alone
for too long.

Should brush aside
to learn the years,
learn thy name.

And honestly, it’s kind of a slap in the face when I read things like this that I wrote in the past.  I’ve been so sluggish lately with things in my life but I guess I am grateful to look back at this sentiment of ‘brushing aside the overgrowth’ and learning exactly what these years mean.  I want to take my own advice.  More recently, my poetry has taken a rough course into surrealism and borderline dadaism lol, which reflects this conflict in my self.  I kind of want to get back to writing sentimental poetry with simple sentence structure, and simple ideas.  Instead, I’m fucking a train through a panda in the garden of bloodlight, stomping mutatedly and such.  It’s really a problem.  Here’s an example of the fuckery:

Sheath

Fighter army sin full mouth melts cloud copper
that troll ferocity tears flesh and cups blood
so ritual a mastadon sniffing up ant colonies
and swelling adrenal glands as insect pulse technology,
clenching barrier bars the cell penetration so
triangle structure force punctures blood plop
eye drop iris contraction extracts witch excitement
and underground is foiled throbbing magmas
shimmering spikes of crystalline greens and
a knight’s twitch throw a fit so
flip a switch bitch, no tale is over.

~

Looking at poems I wrote in the past, I remember some advice and feedback I’ve recieved by some people.  It makes sense, but it doesn’t seem to stick.  Anyway, if I’m gonna get back to writing sentimentally, I think I have to conquer other areas of my life… untill then I’ll continue to lose my cool in an explosive and impolite manner, in writing, of course.  I’m done rambling.  Later!