all set in place and position

talking-to-myself-diane-liberty

pen-pencil- cutting down, building up
measures in the case of live streaming —

the ceiling comes way too low and
brushes against my head, a speck
of dust on my stooped shoulders,
a particular movement of the tongue
held against the unvarnished lips,

as the thought takes
the form and shape
and size and surety
of words —

piercing sounds within the skull,
talking to myself,

my low desk lower in its intimacy,
my balcony door uncertain of its certainty,
the floor and cushion bearing the weight
of my spaced legs, thighs afloat in
their own ceremony of discomfort —

the click-clacking lights pander to
my need for a gas-light expression,
a silent explosion, a runaway poem,

or the jostling of sounds and storms on
a new page of an old notebook (received
for there are other things to be given)

as hand-woven, fingerpainted pictures
emerge, inch by inch/pixel by pixel,

and a poem becomes its own poetry
in 300 seconds, 35 minutes, 3.5 hours,
3 days and a matter of a sacrifice
of all that it creates — a side-effect
of death for things that take birth
in any case.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

Image source (by Diane Liberty)
For With Real Toads’ Don’t Touch My Meez. Also linking it up with the Poetry Pantry at PU.

41 thoughts on “all set in place and position

  1. I do like your take on my prompt. The surrealness of it is wonderful. “and a poem becomes its own poetry”…I do like this line so much! No matter where we are, this is the essence of poetry. Thank you for writing this amazing poem to my prompt.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Jim says:

    The building of a poem. Then what to fill it with? Things that smell, sounds to be heard, sights to see, food and other that taste (I expanded here). I enjoyed the breaking of these rules, i.e. “a silent explosion, a runaway poem.”
    Anmol, I didn’t understand everything here but I wrote of my impression. My mind was constantly working. Fun reading, exploring.
    ..

    Liked by 1 person

  3. a poem becomes its own poetry…now that’s a forever line! If in the realignment of one’s space and self, some things have to die before something else can be birthed… then that is indeed the poetry of life’s continuum.. a poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. These lines put me in mind of a nineteenth century poet writing in his garret:
    ‘the ceiling comes way too low and
    brushes against my head, a speck
    of dust on my stooped shoulders’
    and
    ‘my low desk lower in its intimacy,
    my balcony door uncertain of its certainty’.
    I love the lines:
    ‘…the jostling of sounds and storms on
    a new page of an old notebook’
    which remind me of my old passion for notebooks which has died a bit since my handwriting has deteriorated. I used to love holding an weighted pen and making that first mark on paper.
    A wonderful poem, Anmol.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Kestril Trueseeker says:

    I am becoming a solid fan of your wordplay. The phrasing is fresh and clever, but the feelings they evoke are familiar territory for most practitioners of the art of writing.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. sanaarizvi says:

    Woww!❤️ This poem gives me chills as I visualize the gorgeous backdrop and setting where your muse flows 🙂 the creative energy comes with its own set of complications and a certain unwavering strength and power as we put words down on paper. Especially love; “my need for a gas-light expression, a silent explosion, a runaway poem.” Beautiful, beautiful writing, Anmol! 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  7. mhmp77 says:

    kaykuala

    as the thought takes
    the form and shape
    and size and surety
    of words —

    Poetry certainly is a thought process that will result in a satisfaction. One will only be aware of the blessings extended when the thought process gets entangled by ‘writer’s block’. Otherwise it will be smooth sailing!

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

  8. magicalmysticalteacher says:

    That “particular movement of the tongue” is, I assume, one of many good-luck charms that writers are known to use to get their creative juices flowing. And how this poem does flow!

    Liked by 1 person

  9. gillena cox says:

    ” size and surety
    of words —”
    A remarkable phrase in your creative process
    Happy Sunday Anmol. Thanks for dropping by my sumi-e Sunday today

    Much❤love

    Liked by 1 person

  10. How does the poem I read come into being? What allowed space of mind and heart, what fuel of desire, what supreme balancing act across the voice from nothing to this? Our material moments are perhaps the least important, though the creator finds h/herself in them. We’ve written poems how long now, how did we find this groove, how many times has it changed? Was it only time that was sacrificed? Wonderful questions arise in reading your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. How wonderfully claustrophobic and full of sound, this showing the price we pay for plying our gift / trade as a creator. We’ve got to stay afloat in the outlines of our selves while bringing the poem into being. Sometimes I suffer the poem into birth, other times I dance it–but good or perfect or neither–the poem comes into its own. Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

    • So it does! I like how you mention and picked on the “suffering” aspect of it, the toil it takes sometimes can be hard and bitter as well.
      Thank you, Susan, for your thoughtful comment. 🙂

      Like

  12. Pat: willow88switches says:

    🌠🌠🌠🌹🌹🌹

    Bravo!Bravo!

    I love how you’ve started this soft walk and then sinking drop into this act – of creation, of writing, of touching on the sensitive and sensual nature of space and what it can be, even for the dissolution of self, or how storms and angry words can be like birds on a wire, just outside the door/window …. or for the silken flow into something sinuous – or a combination of this – how this immediacy just always wants to push back against the hardness, the coldness of creating via screen, and keyboards/pads …
    for there is an immediacy in putting hand to page …
    but sometimes, we have to adapt and flex and just work with it, as it is ….

    and the dive into both space and words, well – can they ever be separate identities if they are, if not, identical twins, but more than fraternal?

    I feel felt like a feather floating down, coming to settle – and I landed here:

    my low desk lower in its intimacy,
    my balcony door uncertain of its certainty,
    the floor and cushion bearing the weight
    of my spaced legs, thighs afloat in
    their own ceremony of discomfort —

    wow! just incredible …
    with so many other amazing images, ideas and metaphors all working the magic of space, in creation, and creation, in space …

    Liked by 1 person

  13. wyndolynne says:

    The sense of physicality and communion with space and page–this was amazing. It was writing that hands the writing experience back, a series of images living and breathing that shakes askew that blindered ‘write, write, keep writing’ for a second.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Is it terrible that I really love all the 3s in the last stanza? As if the creation of poetry is a thing of magic, of fairy tales made inked living (fate just can’t say no to 3s, I’ve heard…).

    The phrase “a side-effect of death” pulls all sorts of images out of my reader’s bone.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ha! I love the idea of fate not being able to say no to 3s. I really enjoy this way forward into a fairytale sequence of myths and rituals. 3 is a powerful number after all and works so well in more ways than one.
      Thanks, Magaly, for your kind words. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  15. This line jumps out at me as I often find myself talking to myself in my head. It is like rushing through a busy store with a shopping cart of words. Where to go what ingredients do I need to create the poem in my head?

    piercing sounds within the skull,
    talking to myself,

    Liked by 1 person

  16. i like to think of a poem as an artpiece.
    we don’t just write about realism alone, we draw of emotions, what’s in our imaginations. sometimes we need to be a Dali or a Miro or Klee. your poem reminds me of them. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Here is where you tell me something...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s