i have pulled
the bullets from my head
and laid them on
the table
your attempt
to kill me has again failed
(failure) it was you
who chose a white world an unclouded day world
not me - i told you
i preferred black and white - soil
and mud against a purified
parceling - muddy, murky writing, mississippi bottom
mud - Faulkner writing, sweaty,
somewhere between light and dark - somewhere between
living and dying; an unsettling word - don't think you
can hold me against
a white background - an all white background
dressed in white
i don't know that kind'a
humble....
bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2011
a strong voice in this one that makes me cheer for her.
ReplyDeletedang...def a strong voice...the opening stanza is a clencher too...putting the pullets from your head...pow...awesome write bk
ReplyDeleteThanks Shelia and Brian....really thank you both much....bkm
ReplyDeleteThis is just perfect!
ReplyDeleteVery powerful, bkm. It reads like a manifesto. "I pulled the bullets from my head"--wow! I want her to keep going!
ReplyDeleteWhen people expect us to stand on the pedestal that they have put us, it's so hard to step down to be our muddy selves. We don't want to disappoint them. But this is an anthem to step down into the Missippi mud.
ReplyDeleteVery strong poem. Its flow is so clean and rhythmic. Thanks
ReplyDeleteA strong voice, staunch approach :) Nice :)
ReplyDeleteCheers,
That first stanza really grabs the attention. I love that she refuses to give in to the demand for purity/perfection
ReplyDeletePowerful stuff and great writing ..thank you x
ReplyDeleteIntense, vivid, filled with imagery, well written..... Pulling bullets from one's head...what a picture.
ReplyDeletePowerful write... the bullets, black & write background.. created an attention grabbing image! great
ReplyDeleteYour style keeps getting sharper and simpler, and all the more effective in turning your images into the ultimate reality inside someone else's head. Very fine poem, with an opening and ending that couldn't be improved if you spent years on them.
ReplyDeleteCan I simply echo Joy,,,I`m way too long between visits, which may play a role, but I thought this simply fantastic...I don`t know that kinda humble either...a brilliant weave...but that line will stay with me FOREVER!
ReplyDeleteThank you Hedge...your comment has made my day....bkm
ReplyDeleteThank you Natasha - and Anthony and everyone...bkm
ReplyDeleteThe soul wants to be in the muck...it's where life is lived and where we get the fodder for our art. Well done!
ReplyDeleteAny poem that fastens itself to Faulkner is like a magnet drawing me in. He certainly understood Southern women - those small spun steel women, no frail dahlias drooping in the sun. Women and the South would he said not just endure (as they had always) but in in essence they would prevail. Indeed, women of the South black and white together, indeed are carrying on and that ain't no humble pie.
ReplyDeletevivid and powerful words here! what an awsome write :)
ReplyDeleteA strong voice...great poem!
ReplyDeleteMississippi Bottom Mud...... yes,,,, two different worlds, one lived in, the other impossibly perfect.... wonderful flow to this... surreal, sort of, in a way, a dream where white can overpower us... make us long for our own place, in the Mississippi bottom... I really like this....
ReplyDeleteAmazing voice in this piece, the first stanza was a complete grabber! Wonderful! ~ Rose
ReplyDeleteNot sure why some men, in loving someone, always seem to want to own them, fully possess them to the extent of "refurbishing" them to their own wants and expectations. I am sure why someone who was the object of such attention could consider that a "death." it would be a death of self, of they are in their own minds. Thoughtful piece, BMac.
ReplyDelete