30 August 2005

Ode to A Counsellor

This isn't me, I haven't been in this place. Its just an experiment (probably a crass one) in exploring the flip side of a post I saw on someone's blog today.

Be kind - be brutal. Just use a sharp knife!

Dear Counsellor.

My heart spilled out upon the floor.
Though shattered years before we met,
I’d packed it hard with mud and straw,
obsessively defended it.

But week on week, you came to be
a gentle mirror to my fire,
until these eyes could truly see
my pain, my panic, my desire.

My heart is spilled upon the floor,
my darkest secrets broken, torn.
Yet thanks to you, dear silent friend,
today, at last, I start to mourn.


Aaah what am I on about, the technique stinks. I don't even know if this is 'ode' format. The words don't flow at all, but I wanted to get the concept down. I'm much better at hindsight than original creativity, so if it lives, I'll keep picking at it. Any thoughts?

2 comments:

Lightning Bug's Butt said...

I'll consider the meaning of that poem if you pay me 115 dollars per hour.

That's the standard fee for a therapist.

Steve said...

I dont know about the 'words not flowing' I must admit I had to read it a couple of times for it to flow as well as your poems normally do, but I love it when you have to put some effort into reading a poem and for me it always works best when I read them outloud not just in my head.

As for therapists, remember we are British so therapy means someone saying "pull yourself together man", "not in front of the children" and my fav " stiff upper lip old man" lmao