More Mushy Untitled Poemy Shite


I am from the far place of shadows and quiet desperation, hiding inside layers of old wordstacks that litter these grey and thistled fields.

The wind, an eerie falsetto, wails in accents lost to all but the half-living, calling me out into the thick and sorry night. But I don’t mind darkness any more — what use is light if I cannot see his smile?

Savage storms blend into my grief with ease, leaving no trace, yet oceans rise from a single tear on the swell of all those tomorrows, gaping voids, chasms of fear, with only the writing of me to show me I am real.

The sun is gone and what once was precious is now dust. From this dust I spin stanzas that ache with the burdens of the lost, and tie grief-laden raindrops into knots that lie here beside me, piled up.

Over the poem comes the sound of a drum, yet the beat means nothing, nothing at all, mere counterpoint to the creak of a worn soul buckling before the final snap. Never, never was a life so long and so damned.

I run and my foosteps are light, but the very fall of them makes the grass bleed and the flowers shrivel to skeletal stumps. Round and round the wordstacks I go, charting the course of a life once lived, now lost.

 I am from the far place of shadows and quiet desperation, no escape, no redemption, so I crawl back to hide within the confines of this poem. Where else is there to go?



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  1. Alan

     /  February 8, 2012

    Dotty dear, your poem seeps with the deepest of sorrows. xx

  2. Dear Dotty,
    I fear you may be becoming undone!
    I exhort you to seek help from the forthrighteous apothecary posthaste, Mr Bandersnatch. He is an adroit and dextrous man who will fill your deep darkness with light as he has done with me many,many times in the past.
    Shall I be so bold as to put forward your name when next I enjoin with him?
    He’s travelling in Morocco at this time but Oh! he surely is a consummate technician of the human sphere that I cannot commend highly enough.
    sorrowfully yours,

  3. What a beautiful and tragic poem. You made me feel like I was there beside you. I am filled with sorrow for your obvious sadness — I wish I could reach through the screen and across the miles, just to hug you. I can’t tell you everything will be okay. But I can say that I care about you deeply, and I hope that helps, at least a little.

  4. Dear Alan, Persephone & Judith,
    Thank you all for reading this crap and saying nice things about it. I’ve been taking my Laudanum with a little extra tot of Quinine to help it go down. And I baked some nice opium & beta blocker muffins for breakfast this morning. I’m feeling much, much better now.
    Lots of love
    Dotty xxx

  5. Dear Dotty,
    Why did someone invent such an incompetent “like” button? 1 +1 = 0… ???? What kind of logic is that? Stupid fucking wanker of a button inventor!
    I tried to double like your poem… Yes, IT IS DOUBLE GOOD Dotty. If I had the capabilities of expressing myself in proper manners, I would’ve have written those words…. But I don’t, I only do black smearings down in my white porcelain ink well.
    Gotta run. I’m out of tissue.

  6. The mushy untitled poemy shite was perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever read in my life… except for the title… (or lack thereof)… which could use a little work.
    Now cheer up.

  7. i like the title, and the poem is very very good….and since you may have to read it again to know what i’m referring to, i hope it’s not too bad


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