what is poetry if not torture?

i could write a thousand things

use my hands to spin

a thousand tales

i could write about the 

sun between the leaves

and the grass betwixt my toes

in some summer in june,

holding a cold glass

of golden lemonade

on the back porch

of a farm house.

i could write about the 

rush of love that floods my face

every time my husband

washes his face

in an unremarkable sink,

how the scar under his eye

makes him all the more endearing

when he shows me 

his softer side.

i could write about the 

joy that kicks my heart

when i pet my cats,

when they curl and stretch

on my lap without request,

those jade green eyes

looking at me like i'm

the master of their universe.

but do you want that?

you, whom i both love and hate.

you, whom i subconsciously aim

to please with my work.

i am nothing if not a gladiator

in your arena of wit and grammar,

fighting for your praise

and desperate for your approval.

no, i know what you want.

you want my guts

and you want my blood,

my sorrow and my vomit,

my hatred and my loathing.

you want my trauma and my anger,

my burdens and my victimhood,

you want my constellation of tears

and my plethora of pleas.

you want me to say something

you can relate to,

so you can point to me and say 

"thats soooo me!".

so you can feel better about yourself

when you comfort a starving artist.

you want my grime and murder

my lost light and dimming lanterns,

so you can point to me and say

"thats not me at all,"

so you can feel better about yourself

when you forget i was ever here at all.

everyone loves a good crisis,

and if mine is entertaining,

do i embrace that?

do i fear that?

do i even think about that?

i dunno.

here's a poem.

are we having fun yet?

Reviews

[FlatDaddy]

Hmmm, dunno if I'm right, but I hear a torrid monologue said before a mirror, my very good friend. Maybe because I've written/said something similar from time to time. But these are questions well worth asking; even better ones when they're answered. Very nicely done, even if I'm wrong. But I never am -- in my opinion; I'm a poet after all, like you.

[emmajoygreen]

Read this twice and still somehow see it as pure fine poetry having written on different types of paper with different pens and maybe varying light. Can't say you're moody but there is an internal scrap about your feelings and that of your darling's? Or are you placing him in a way that represents everything in life that you feel is negative.

'you want my grime and murder
my lost light and dimming lanterns,
so you can point to me and say
"thats not me at all,"
so you can feel better about yourself
when you forget i was ever here at all.'

Such grand language, strong thoughts laid well but argumentative and a little scary too. Perhaps. Maybe.

[Emunah June.]

Oh thank you so much for reviewing my work! I sincerely appreciate it, it means a lot coming from you.

Secret…I’ve mentioned you specifically in my newest piece. You’ve inspired me quite a bit!!

[emmajoygreen]

Oh dear! Many thanks. By the way, your wedding dress was and is absolutely beautiful

[Emunah June.]

I appreciate it! That means a lot more than I can express.

[Vol]

Emunah,
I have long said that the most important thing we do is look inside ourselves. I remember when I was in the 11th grade, and we studied the ancient philosophers. Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living." As a preacher's kid, I already knew how to do that. For it to be validated by what I learned in that class, changed everything. I used to talk my friends into visiting the local Junior College and audit philosophy and Comaprative Religion classes.
But here's the thing, Poetry walks a narrow path and occupies tiny spaces. The modern world has left all the Liberal Arts behind. The only thing people care about Picasso is how much his paintings sell for. The Moderns crucified themselves looking for MEANING. Since they couldn't come up with that, the Postmoderns said there was no meaning, unless it was the sound of one hand clapping. Rising from those ashes, what have we got? Little personal insights that would fix the world, but nobody reads anymore, and certainly, they are terrified of a good poem. So here we are, standing like dead trees in an open field. Alone. We have each other, floating aimlessly, reading at coffee shops and hanging out here. They have walled us off, so we run in the wild outside, where we can do no harm.

[Emunah June.]

I think the world of art, creation, poetry, and deliverance is just astounding. We can do so much, but expect just as much back.

Take a certain . . . "writer" we all know . . . for example.

This "writer" will oftentimes criticize, mock, smear, and attempt to "fix" anything that they disagree with. We have all established that this "writer" is in fact some kind of troll who likes to hurt others, but it makes you wonder . . . how is creation so powerful that it could ever make one feel that way? What happened in the process of refinining a craft that anyone ever decided who was "good", what was "good", and what wasn't? If we all pour love, time, energy, and feeling into our work, then wouldn't all of it be good? Its really fascinating, if you ask me.

I thought about how the relationship between a poet and a reader is both toxic and enlightening. You find out so much about yourself, as well as the audience you end up trying to please, even subconciously. I will admit, I've had poems I have written that have gone unnoticed and I have talked myself into thinking that must mean they arent "good", because if I was "good", then surely SOMEONE would've wanted to read it, right? Its all so interesting to me, and I wanted to try and write about it in the way that highlighted both sides of this deeply fascinating line. I dunno, I just think this is intriguing to think about.

Thank you so much for your review, they warm my heart and give me drive to keep creating!!

[Vol]

Emunah,
The fact that there is so much literature about consciousness, psychology, philosophy, and scripture means the prima facie evidence would say "We knew what to do." Everything is at our disposal, and it is not the universe's fault we are so lazy, we just didn't do it.
For me, I write. I write what I want. I do not bite my tongue and do not accept censorship. Your voice is a powerful one, and you should NEVER worry about what happens to your poems. You put them out there to help, if folks miss out, it's not your fault. If they don't understand, it's not your fault. You have fulfilled your responsibilities, so now you can turn and walk away knowing you did what you could. You never know when someone might stumble into just the truth they need you left lying along the way for them to find.
Vol

[Vol]

Oh, and Emunah, I used to tell my students the reason I chose language over math is because I hate being wrong. As a mathematition, I might wake up on a glorious spring morning feelining so good I can't contain myself and declare "It is sugh a beautiful world, today two plus twwo is FIVE! And I would be wrong! But if I write a poem I would be right... every time! No matter what it said, And no matter what you see in it is also right no matteer how different from what I thought when I wrote it. I just LOVE that!
Vol

[FlatDaddy]

Vol, I read all your above comments because aw, shucks, I just found them so entertaining, especially because they carried the weight of truth. What is more entertaining than truth revealed? I loved your comment about us being dead trees in an open field. So true, but I for one am still alive, a proud pecan tree, tossing my nuts to the squirrels rushing to and fro for my sweet nuggets.

[Curly Grace]

This hit with a kind of weary truth. The way you name the tug‑of‑war between what we feel and what we’re expected to bleed… It’s sharp, and it lands. Thank you for letting it be exactly what it is.

[Emunah June.]

Thank you, so much for your review! I wanted to try something a little new, give the piece a bit of more punch, so I appreciate it landed that way!!!

[John the Baptist]

You seem angry. Do you want an apology?

[Emunah June.]

I can’t say I do. I think it’s a weird relationship, being a poet! It’s to be both loved and feared, a brilliant symbiotic bond.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Holy crap Emunah. Are you pushing us all away? This is brilliantly strong writing but it’s as if you knelt on a mat, pulled your favorite sword from its sheath and committed harakiri before our very eyes. I hope this blood letting will prove healing.

[Emunah June.]

I suppose I am not necessarily pushing anyone away as much as I am cognizant of what a relationship between a poet and reader can be. It can be beautiful, thoughtful, honest in approach, or it can be gorey and grim in curiosity. I am well! And I am feeling pretty good.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you for reporting. I sometimes write from the edge; it doesn’t mean I’m going to jump off. So I get it.

[Emunah June.]

I like to write from the edge because I am fascinated by the view. Surely you get that too!

[Michael Sun Bear]

I do Emunah.

[Davidgeo]

How are you enjoying the late stage capitalism? I'm having a nice time until the civil war breaks out. No one at all is going insane out here. You should talk to your local firefigher and or paramedic, they will tell you, everything is fine. No one out here is losing their mind... and it's not like it's happening en masse, ha, that'd be crazy!! F****n' crazy man!!! It's not like there's a mental health crisis in America... my dude, No f****n' way that's happenin', my man. Everything is fine here. Obviously.

[Emunah June.]

I’m not sure how that relates to my work.

[Davidgeo]

"everyone loves a good crisis"

Really?
Alright. My bad.

[Emunah June.]

No no, you’re totally fine! It makes sense when you point that out, I was just confused at first lol