the monster lives within

the monster lives within

 

 

bees, bell jars

and the gritty spit of poems

a woman in danger,

writes letters echoing cries for destruction

abuts the heart of a mother, turning the other cheek

 

when will the slap be heard,

when will the pen move in reply 

to assuage, to accommodate the pleas

Please hear me, I am crying out

from the grave I am digging for myself

I will be Igor, grave robbing my soul

 

even God will turn a blind eye

and my life will have gone by

with some buzz

but little fanfare.

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

1/18/22

Reviews

[lessa (kenzie)]

Please hear me, I am crying out
from the grave I am digging for myself
I will be Igor, grave robbing my soul

Love this part, when you said igor i kinda chuckled,
This is wonderful, quite the enjoyable read here

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, kenzie,
j.

[John the Baptist]

A little nod to Sylvia in the first verse sets the tone for this comment on tormented poets. Verse two illustrates the pain of unrequited cries for creativity. The last verse expresses the agony of frustrated hopes. On the other hand, no life where the best was given is a waste, outcomes be damned.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I surely agree with your last line, John.
thank you for your words,
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

We never know what others have endured… Poetry gives a way to express the Injustice that needs to be addressed. gently, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

it sure does, thank you, Pat,
j.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Well, let's not go turning on the gas or putting heads in the oven even if we believe dying is an art. This was cleverly wrought. I'm reminded of Stevie Smith's poem too, "I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning." Plath truly was...not waving but drowning. I enjoyed the read.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Fabian....yes, my students and I discuss those lines. "dying is an art, like everything else, I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feel like hell, I do it so it feels real."
I like your line from Stevie's poem as well.

[Gee]

Who knows what goes on in the mind of others. A friends daughter committed suicide on her own daughters 9th birthday, she was called out for all sorts of things, branded selfish even though numerous botched attempts, her cry for help, went unheeded. What sanity in suicide eh !
Hope all is well Jacob

[jacob erin-cilberto]

sometimes we don't hear the cries...selfish? I think often that is a harsh assessment and easier for someone who has not been there to say.
thank you, Gee,
j.

[Fran Marie]

Sylvia Plath surely was a troubled
soul to be sure ..your words
run deep with metaphor well used
great ending lines with some buzz
but little fanfare..

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Fran...I just loved Sylvia's words...
she and Sexton were the subjects of my Masters Thesis....such an interesting journey that was.
j.

[M. J. Smith]

Yes, sadly too few ever hear a cry for help until it's too late. Our society turns a blind eye even now to abuse. And don't get me started about their attitude on mental illness. Sorry. Anger there. Well written, my friend. Sad and beautiful words.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

never be sorry for anger...thank you for your words, M.J.
j.

[M. J. Smith]

It just angers me the way some people fall into cracks simply because nobody cares. And... I want to avoid lashing out at an innocent. You see this point. You addressed it, at least as I understand your poem. Thank you for your kindness to this old drifter.