Poetry Through the Ages for September

In the blocks below, please find your weekly poems written by me. There are two components to each poem: The poem I wrote as a child (I started writing poetry when I was 11) and an updated version of the same poem written as an adult with a clearer understanding of poetic devices and styles. If you have any questions or concerns about the poems, please reach out to me!

Week One:

Multiply—2004. Age 15

Multiply.

You multiply,

You wait,

You sit,

Freedom.

Multiply.

You see,

You feel,

You suck,

Freedom.

Multiply.

You multiply the happiness,

You wait for the feeling,

You sit with anxiety,

Freedom.

Multiply.

You see drawings,

You feel nervous,

You suck the life,

Freedom.

Analogy

Multiply.—
Do you see a theme here, alongside my poems from last week and the week before? The poet went through stages where a similar theme was carried over weeks, with a few outliers here and there. This ‘multiply’ could be anything: Multiply as in more of a feeling the poet felt at the time (which the poetcan’t remember now); multipy the words on this page for the poem; multiply the expectations the poethad for how this poem ended (since the poetdon’t always have the end in sight when the poetstart the poem); or it could have been something else entirely. This wouldn’t be the mathematical version of multiply. The poet really likes math and thinks it’s fascinating, but my math abilities are non–existent.

You multiply,—
This changes the tone from the previous line because the poet speaks about “I” instead of “you” which could mean the intention was to address you, the reader, from the start, and “I” was used as part of what was multiplied. If “I” is multiplied in this context, it could be an amalgamation form of multiply since both “you” and “I” as entities need to multiply for the poem and thought process to continue.

You wait,—
We wait, as a people, for a lot of things. Waiting in line for something or another is a part of our daily interactions, so it’s expected that we wait for our turn. In the context of this poem, waiting might not be as expected. When you, as the reader, start reading a poem, you don’t wait for the end to come, you simply read the poem and get to the end in a natural way. As for the namesake of the poem, multiplication is usually instantaneous as the act itself, while the reason for multiplication can take longer. For example, multiplying lines on a page for a poem happens on a line by line basis, but the thought process that gives these lines meaning isn’t as straightforward as the placement of the lines. If you, as the reader, wait for something to happen while reading a poem, the only way to stop waiting is to finish the poem and analyse the lines. Your wait will end when you find the answer to your questions:

Why did I start reading this poem?
What prompted me to search for this poem in the first place?
Why did I wait so long to read this poem and think about its meaning?

You sit,—
Not all of my poems have a physical aspect to them. Most of them don’t use physical attributes to describe their surroundings, or your surroundings when reading the poem. When I do, these are conscious decisions to allow you, as the reader, to think about your own surroundings and what they mean to you in relation to the poem. In this context, there is a place to sit, which means this poem isn’t ‘in the air’ like my other poems without any physical attributes. This could be a chair, a countertop, a tree that has fallen over, or the floor. The question is: Why do you, as the reader, need to sit down at all? Are you tired? Do your muscles hurt? Do you need to sit down because this will give you more focus as you read the poem? The above lines have been action words: As the reader, you experience and complete these actions because of outside forces and you do these actions as a response to your environment. On their own, these actions seem straightforward as lines, but when read in conjunction with one another, they tell a story, particularly if read as a whole for the stanza.

Freedom.—
Freedom can be a loaded word because it means different things for many people, and even then, each freedom comes with strings attached. If you have freedom of speech, the question is Why wouldn’t you have freedom of speech? If the opposite weren’t possible, would there still be such a focus on this freedom? If you have freedom of religion, do your religious freedom rights negate another’s religion? Is religious freedom still possible then, since it’s one sided? If you have the freedom to choose what media and literature to consume, how do you know your choice was your own free will and not subconsciously encouraged by those around you? If you have the freedom to consume or ignore according to your own free will, you could choose to stop reading this poem at any time, but most of you won’t because you feel compelled to complete it because there are more lines after this one. In the context of this poem, the freedom to multiply is yours. What you multiply is your choice, though, and how often you do this is how you exercise your freedom to choose to be compelled or not.

Multiply.—
At this stage, what is multiplied is most likely the number of lines on this page for the poem or the frequency of thoughts used to create and analyze the poem. On its own, this ‘multiply’ is ambiguous because it stands alone and is a full sentence, so the question is whether or not this multiplies by itself or if it needs the other lines and thought, after the terminal punctuation, to perform its function. Since the first line can be seen on its own, the question of what is multiplied could be changed to a statement, and this statement could be seen as malicious or benign. If the poet is forced to multiply for the sake of the poem, what is multiplied could be the poet’s fear of what happens if they can’t finish the poem. The lines of the poem could be used as leverage to the person forcing the poet to multiply their own thoughts and ideas against the wishes of the poet, but since the poet’s only choice is to multiply lines on the page for the sake of their enforcer, this form of ‘multiply’ could lead to a reduction in safety for the poet themselves; the opposite of multiply. If this is the case, should the title of the poem still be ‘Multiply’?

You see,—
The poet could be speaking to you, as the reader, directly in this line to show them that they see the lines the poet wrote just as they were written. If you are capable of seeing the lines of this page as part of the poem, you will also have the ability to see anything that has been multiplied as part of this poem, whether it’s the words, ideas, or assumptions that are being multiplied. As the reader, you can see first hand what the poet wants to multiply, even if they don’t know the answer themselves, yet.

You feel,—
As the reader, this could mean you feel the weight of the poem in short bursts to help with the impact, or you could physically feel the page or screen to help you feel the words and context of the lines. For those of us with hands, feeling something is often how we experience our surroundings and some may even use what they feel to help with visualisations of what the poet was trying to convey, although without descriptions in the poem itself, the reader is often left to fend for themselves and their imagery. Abstract lines and characters in poetry focus on what you, as the reader, feel and experience rather than what the poet wanted to illustrate, idea by idea.

You suck,—
This line could be understood in many ways, amusing, sexual, or derogatory, and on its own, it doesn’t give a lot of context. As part of this poem, it has more meaning, but since the poet analyzes their poems line by line and not stanza by stanza, without reaching the end of the poem, this line feels out of place. If we look at this line in the context of the previous lines, it could also be seen as a directive or action towards the reader and how the reader takes this version of ‘suck’ is entirely up to them.

Freedom.—
Freedom to read is a freedom not everyone is given. The freedom to read to the end of this poem could be seen as a given, but the freedom to choose what each line means and how these are understood as a whole is a freedom the poet themselves doesn’t have. The poet might have had the freedom to write this poem, but they don’t have the freedom to choose what it means for those who read it. For those who don’t have the freedom to read, the final line as ‘freedom’ in this poem could also imply the finality of what the inability to read means. This inabilty could be an educational one where the person who came across this page is unable to read at all or read at an advanced enough level to understand poetry; a societal norm where it’s expected ib society that people shouln’t engage in the arts or question what they read; and finally, the freedom to read could be a freedom people may not realize they have based on their political and religious background, or the political and religious background of those around them. If people don’t realize they can read, they might not realize they can question what they have read.

Multiply.—
By now, you have probably noticed that the first and last lines for all the above stanzas are identical, but the reasons and analogies for each of these lines are different. This is to help you, as the reader, learn the different meanings and contexts of both of these words, ‘freedom’ and ‘multiply’ and to come to understand that the definitions of each of these words rely on the words and context around them. As in the previous stanza, the context of freedom relies on what freedoms can be removed to allow for a specific freedom to be granted, instead of what freedoms you have without any strings attached. If you, as the reader, multiply your freedoms, do you think you’ll have more of a single freedom or would you have more general freedoms based on whether or not they can be removed as easily?

You multiply the happiness,—
The poet isn’t sure if ‘happiness’ has been explained in this context before but in general, the poet doesn’t believe in happiness. In this case, what the poet is multiplying is nothing, or 0, and even though the poet explained that this ‘multiply’ isn’t a mathematical concept, multiplying anything by 0 wil be 0. The poet doesn’t multiply anything as part of this line, since 0 means nothing, or a lack of. If this line is multiplied by 0 and turns into nothing, does this line exist at all? How can it be read when reduced to nothing, or is it the reader’s job to make something of the line because it wasn’t the reader who resigned the line to non–existence?

You wait for the feeling,—
Waiting to feel something could mean that the poet assures the reader that the poem or story as part of them will reveal itself and the reader will feel any emotion or feeling the poet wants them to feel, or the poet could withhold feelings from the reader and poem by writing short lines and stanzas for a specific effect. When reading poetry, there could be an expectation that the lines need to be long or ‘flowy’ unless the poet specifies that the poem is free–form, and there could be an expectation that short lines mean less of an important topic. That might not be the poet’s intention, but waiting for a feeling or emotion based on what you, as the reader, have read and experienced, waiting for the end to come might be your only option to feel what the poet had intended: A sense of completion at the finale of the poem.

You sit with anxiety,—
This line could be understood as sitting with anxiety, either from the poet and the reader themselves and the reason poetry was needed in the first place (as an escape), or you, as the reader, could sit with anxiety as a response to your surroundings and sitting is easier because standing with anxiety leads to foot tapping or swaying your body. Both of these movements limit the freedoms you have in a public space because others around you might assume you are unwell or just biding time before you can leave (escape) a space that causes you anxiety. The other option is the personification of anxiety in the flesh. If you, as the reader, can see anxiety in front of you and sit with them, what you multiply is your ability to acknowledge what’s bothering you, or which emotion has your attention at this time.

Freedom.—
Let’s look at an entirely new definition of ‘freedom’ for this line. If you, as the reader, have the freedom to choose which freedoms you have today and tomorrow, is this your own freedom that you serve, or is this freedom come at the expense of the laws and people around you? If you are free to read this poem and free to use the internet for this website for poetry and my other content, did someone lose their freedom for you to do this? If the person who taught you how to read lost their freedoms to a normal life after becoming a teacher since their time was taken up by their teaching responsibilities, do you think they knowingly gave up their freedoms to teach you to read this poem, or did they have further freedoms as a teacher they could use sparingly and in small parts to allow you the freedom of reading and themselves the freedom of teaching?

Multiply.—
As the final form of ‘multiply’ in the poem, and as the first line in the final stanza, we can assume that the multiplication is over. The poet can multiply as many lines and meanings in the body of the poem, but once the poem is finished, any ideas the poet had of what they can multiply are over. The poet will have to multiply their thoughts and ideas for later lines into new poems and follow a new version of multiplication: The multiplication of poems and ideas to paint a picture of when the new readers will have the freedom to read these new poems and how these readers will react. From the reader’s perspective, the final line of ‘multiply’ could seem counterintuitive. What else can be multiplied once the poem is complete? Is it up to you, as the reader, to multiply what you can and what you read in this poem? How could you multiply an idea that wasn’t yours? Is it still multiplication if what you multiply wasn’t yours to multiply in the first place?

You see drawings,—
As a physical concept, drawings could add to the context of this poem, but who drew these? The poet or did you, as the reader, draw them to help with your understanding of the poem? If these drawings are physical drawings made from paper and pen or pencil, what colors would the drawings be? As the poet, they put a lot of thought into the wording and tone of the poem; should the colors be as thought out or should the colors be considered by the readers themselves, since they are the ones who drew to help them understand what they were reading? Once a poem or other piece of art is complete, it’s up to the readers to balance what they know about the context of the poem against the poet themselves. This helps their own imagery, even if these drawings are in their head as a reminder that understanding the poem is only a portion of the poet and image themselves.

You feel nervous,—
If a poem doesn’t have a scary or malicious intent, why would you, as the reader, feel nervous when the end of the poem is near? Nervousness can be for many reasons, and not knowing how and when to multiply is one of these reasons. If you can’t multiply your own thoughts according to what you have read or how you feel once you have read something. The question of ‘why’ comes up. Why can’t you express how your thoughts and emotions multiply when surrounded by others? That reason alone could make you feel nervous: Not knowing who to trust and how to react based on your definitions of freedom would make anyone nervous: How these mistrust issues are multiplied says a lot about the life you lead and how you understand fear.

You suck the life,—
This line is a partial sentence, but this is intentional. There are a few ways this sentence can end: ‘You (the readers) suck the life out of me’ (the poet), as in a literal or metaphorical way of the readers sucking the life out of the poet because readers expect poems to their heart’s content instead of acknowledging the poet needs a break sometimes, or in a metaphorical way where the readers react to certain poems and guide how a poet writes. If readers react poorly to a poem the poet spent days researching and writing, the poet could change their style to adapt to readers' preferences. This could result in the poet removing themselves from the story and ideas to churn out content that sells or is well received instead of writing their own style and for their own reasons.

Freedom.—
As the final line of the poem, this ‘freedom’ could mean freedom from the page, from the poet’s ramblings, or a freedom from the way you, as the reader, is expected to interact with the poem. Poetry in general isn’t a passive activity: Poems can take days to write to ensure the poet’s message comes across as strongly as they intended, but it’s also important that the poet’s message can be analyzed and disputed by the reader if the reader disagrees with the style, the story, or the symbolism. As a reader, you have the freedom to agree or disagree with a piece of art or poetry, and in this freedom, you multiply your ability to think critically about what was written and why certain words made you think in a certain way, regardless of whether this thought process was positive or negative.

What do you think? Do you agree with my understanding and symbolism? I’d love to know!

Please use this [ link ] to the optional forum to start a discussion about the poem. Alternatively, you can use any of the email links from the contact [ page ].

Week Two:

Poem—2004. Age 15

Poem,

Chilling,

Horrifying,

Satisfying.

Poem,

Exhausting,

Tantalizing,

Satisfying.

Poem,

Chilling to the bones,

Horrifying to an extent,

Satisfying.

Poem,

Exhausting for the eyes,

Horrifying to the imagination,

Satisfying.

Analogy

Poem.—
As the first line, this could mean a few things. It could focus on the fact that this is indeed a poem and the word is getting you, you, as the reader, ready to read something that you may be familiar with what poems the writer has provided in the past. The absence of a comma could also mean that this poem will be self–actualizing where it reads like a poem but in short bursts. This is similar to the other pieces the poet has written to emphasise the importance of the individual words instead of taking a wordy sentence and trying to decipher it. Not all of the short poems and shorter lines have this mechanism, but there have been a few in the past to illustrate that these poems are a pattern of some kind.

Chilling,—
Chilling, in this context (of no context) could have a few meanings. The most obvious one is a chill from the cold, but since the previous word didn’t have anything to do with temperature or the environment, we can assume that this isn’t related to the cold. The other contexts of ‘cold’ include a sense of fear (a chill down the spine); a chill when receiving bad news, or a chill when goosebumps appear, which can be for many reasons. Some examples of goosebumps include hearing a particular song or sound (called frisson), walking into an unfamiliar place and feeling unsafe, or seeing something unpleasant and your body has a natural stress reaction, among many other reasons for goosebumps. A chilling feeling has also been assocaited with apprehension and a fear response related to adrenalin and your fight–or–flight reaction. When your body chooses to fight because it can’t move, you could get the chills as your nervous system gets ready for conflict.

Horrifying,—
What is horrifying? The wording of this poem since you, as you, as the reader, are used to different and more fleshed–out poetry, or the fact that after three lines, you still don’t know what the topic of the poem is? If it makes you feel any better, the poet didn’t know what the topic was until the last line either, and even then, the topic could have been a number of things. Deciding what the topic is could become a joint effort with the poet and reader reaching a completely different conclusion at the end.

Satisfying.—
Words and lines can be satisfying on their own; there are many words in different languages that are known for being satisfying for most people, while their meaning is often irrelevant. This is called ‘phonaesthetics’ and was coined by either J. R. R. Tolkien or John Rupert Firth, depending on who you believe. For a word used in a poem, this can go both ways. In general, poems are meant to be satisfying to your eyes and ears because of the context and story of the poem itself. Even in poetry with a sombre meaning, reading about something that happened but didn’t happen to you, as the reader, themselves could be satisfying because you, as the reader, know you are safe from whatever the poet throws at them. When seen as part of a poem (and not in isolation from the beginning of the poem), this satisfaction could be the result of reading the poem in its entirety and knowing the poet put thought and care into each word, each line, and each punctuation mark. The satisfaction of a job well done doesn’t always stop at the person doing the (well–done) job.

Poem.—
We can see that this is a recurring theme for this poem and those before it with the repetition of the first and last line per stanza, but does this mean that there are different meanings for the word ‘poem’ in this example, or is the first meaning of poem just repeated for the effect? Let’s look at some definitions of the word poem in this context: In general, a poem is a piece of writing where an idea is put forward using a specific structure (free–form, sonnet, haiku, and so on) and usually, the style of the poem is linked to the content and context of the poem. For example, haikus are known for their focus on nature and symbolism so the context of a haiku could be that, while a sonnet (regardless of the type of sonnet) usually paints a broader picture of love, loss, or a specific event, and the rhyming couplets are used to further the idea or emotions of the sonnet itself. In this poem, the type of poem could be a free–form poem or an epigram, but the poet doesn’t specify which type because they have elements of both, so it’s up to you, as you, as the reader, to decide what type of poem it is from there.

Exhausting,—
What is exhausting? Reading a poem without a specific rhyming structure or reading a poem without anything being said in the first few lines? With that being said, were the first few lines of the ambiguous poem? If we look at the lines or words separately, this may be the case because, without context, these words don’t mean much, but as a whole, a story could unfold. For example, you, as the reader, could be made aware that this is indeed a poem, and a poem with a horrifying component, whether that is the subject matter in general or the end of the poem, which hasn’t been reached yet. The poet’s intent can also be exhausting if this intent isn’t stated in the early stages of the poem in a society of the ‘want now, will think later’ mentality. Trying to guess the poet’s intention while deciding on what each word or line means could get in the way of a real anaylisis: Most readers who aren’t familiar with poems and poetry devices aren’t trained to multitask and will probably focus on the poet’s intent without looking at the individual words themselves as a part of the intent, which could be exhausting.

Tantalizing,—
‘Tantalizing’ is an ambiguous word. It has a lot of meanings and some of these meanings are counterintuitive to those around them (if the word were in the middle, like a spider diagram, and the meanings were hovering around them). One definition of ‘tantalizing’ is something to be desired while in a sexual or non–conventional way; a story with a lot of juicy details that may not be suitable for all audiences; or a way to describe something that has mystery and intrigue, yet the person who looked up the definition feels uncomfortable to read the true meaning. In general, ‘tantalizing’ could be something exciting yet out of reach and the path to get there could be an adventure.

Satisfying.—
As satisfying as more information about the poem could be, in this context, the word ‘satisfying’ could be used as a mockery of what satisfaction actually means. That’s what I get from this use and placement of the word anyway. Apart from a few more words, you, as the reader, aren’t any wiser to the story of the poem or the intent of the poet. More words without context brings us further away from the page and places us in the lines of the poem itself, trying to analyze as we read, but how can we analyze words—many repeating words at that—if each word is supposed to stand on their own until the end of the poem? Does that mean the only satisfaction you, as you, as the reader, will get, is at the end of this poem? What’s so satisfying about that?

Poem.—
Again? Seriously? At this stage, you, as the reader, know that this is a poem, so the question is: Why does the poet choose to repeat this word/line? We established what types of poems there are earlier in this piece, so the repeated ‘poem’ in this line must have another function other than to remind you, as the reader, that this is indeed a poem and not an essay, assignment, or journal article. Since the sentence ended, we can look at this ‘poem’ as its own unit with its own meanings, intentions, and preferred outcomes in a similar way the poet had their meaning, intention, and preferred outcome with this poem itself. If the poet wills it, can a poem have its own intention and preferred outcome? How could a poem have intention? One way is the intention of the poet, or your intention as the reader, where you put your emotions and expected outcomes of why you read this poem in the first place, in the hands of the lines and spaced on the page. This gives the poem the chance to carry your burden as you read and when you finish the poem, your burdens are your own again, until you read another poem.

Chilling to the bones,—
Now that we have more context for the ‘chilling’ word, the definition of chilling is a more sinister one than what was explained earlier. Being chilled to the bone could mean fear or Death as cold sets in, once a body dies and is reclaimed by nature. This line gives more information about the poet’s intention for the poem itself, and this could lead to further insight into what the poet has in store for the reader. If you, as the reader, is chilled to the bone, it could be that you died while reading this poem, either physically or metaphorically, and you are now a part of the poem and its chilled bones. On the other hand, ‘bones’ could be in the context of something at its most basic form; think of the term bare bones, it doesn’t always mean the outcome of decay. The poet could use the bones of this poem to chill you, as the reader, as you step further into the story of he poem, whether you are aware of this movement or not.

Horrifying to an extent,—
This implies that there is an extent of horror that the poet and poem will refuse to go past. If something has an extent, it’s implied that there is a limit and those who choose to stop before the extent is reached does so on purpose. If necessary, do you think someone could go past an extent/limit without realizing it? In a way, this is how fear works. Our bodies and minds can only handle so much fear before we break. This can be us closing our eyes when we’ve seen too much of a horror movie and feel uncomfortable watching further, or we could leave a situation that makes us feel unsafe to allow for our minds to reset to before we experienced the horrifying event. Since this horror has a limit, who set this limit? Did we set it because we know how much we can handle, or did the poet set the limit by not elaborating on the horrifying event later in the poem? If there is an extent to horror, is there an extent to any type of satisfaction you, as the reader, experience when reading poetry or other artistic mediums?

Satisfying.—
As we reach the end of the poem, the satisfaction could be that the poem is ending and the messages can come to an end, allowing you, as the reader, to ease on whatever horrifying thoughts you had earlier as part of the poem. In a way, this satisfaction can be shared with the poet because it’s rare that a poet or artist has the intention to cause harm when you, as the reader, interact and engage with a specific medium. As satisfying as it is for readers to engage in the poet’s artistic works, a level of dissatisfaction will ensure these engagements will be short–lived, which puts a timer on the poet’s works: A forced satisfaction will feel false and readers like you will stop engaging in these works. Without an audience, a poet or artist is usually just a person with a pen, starving in a dark room and waiting for someone to acknowledge them. “Acknowledgement or Death” is the artist’s unsaid motto after all.

Poem.—
Last time, I swear! As the final stanza approaches, this last word/line of the poem carries more weight compared to the first stanza. At this time, the poem has had more page time and by default, you, as the reader, understand more of the context of the poem. The context can still be up for debate regarding what type of poem this is, who the target audience is, since this could be a small number based on the style of the poem. As a poem, the lines and stanzas seem short and incomplete in a way, but whether this was an intentional choice of the poet or if the poem preferred this style based on a link between the first and final is up to you, as the reader, to decide.

Exhausting for the eyes,—
If the poem is read without these paragraph of line explanations, there aren’t that many words and a lot more white spaces between the beginning and end of the lines. Why are the eyes exhausted in this case? And whose eyes are exhausted, the poets’ or the readers? If the poets’ eyes are exhausted, they were the ones who came uo with this idea so is their exhaustion a choice after re–reading line after line to ensure their work meets their standards, or are their eyes exhausted because of the possible inspiration for this poem, many poems they would have had to read through and the possibilty of a horrifying event for the contect of the first stanza? If it’s the reader’s eyes that are exhausted, have they chosen to exhaust their eyes after reading and re–reading this poem, or are their eyes exhausted because they are used to longer poems, so this one jolted them and they had to get used to a new format of poem?

Horrifying to the imagination,—
Our imaginations are endless, which is a good and bad thing. We can imagine the most wonderful things happening to us and to our loved ones because we want the best for everyone, or our imaginations could turn on us. We could imagine horrors only spoken about in dusty books in a non–fiction section in a library. Our imaginations are truly the meaning of opposites attract: We could fall asleep and dream of our loved ones safe and sound, or we could dream of a loved one who has died and the feeling when we wake up is a mixture of happiness and guilt for not spending as much time with them as we should have. Only through our minds and imagination can we fix this, and when we don’t, these benign dreams could turn into nightmares. What is horrifying to the poet and to the reader are two different things but we have something in common: When something is horrifying, there is usually no end in sight and we need others to tell us that things will be alright, and that there has to be an extent or cut off for the horrors we face on a daily basis. If this poem is to be believed, does this limit exist?

Satisfaction.—
As the final line of the poem, the tense of ‘satisfying’ has changed. Why do you think the poet did this? Was it to catch you, as the reader, off guard so you will think about the final line of the poem because of this difference, or did the tense change because the poet understands that something satisfying can negate the horrors they experienced earlier, while satisfaction is usually left until after the horrors have passed?

References:

Crystal, D. (1995). Phonaesthetically speaking. English Today, 11(2), pp.8–12. doi:https://doi.org/10.1017/s026607840000818x.

What do you think? Do you agree with my understanding and symbolism? I’d love to know!

Please use this [ link ] to the optional forum to start a discussion about the poem. Alternatively, you can use any of the email links from the contact [ page ].

There are spaces without written content on either side of the page. This is by design and to avoid me waffling instead of adding thought–out pieces of writing.

These spaces can also be used to rest your eyes between blocks of text and give you, the reader, time to process and analyze what has been said on the page so far.

Not everything needs to be jam–packed with writing and an opportunity to respond. Sometimes we need the quiet moments and empty spaces to reflect and prepare ourselves for what comes next.

This is a website for reflection and asking questions! What type of writer would I be if I made readers like you tired on purpose, just so you can finish sooner and miss the opportunity to think about what you have read?

Week Three:

Falling—2004. Age 15

Falling into depth,

No escape,

No light in their eyes,

No freedom.

No colours of the rainbow,

Only darkness.

I’m falling into a trap,

Help me.

Wait,

I see a tunnel.

Brilliant light in their eyes,

Freedom of thought,

Lighting.

It is a happy trap of light,

I must help you.

Analogy

Falling into depth,—
Falling in general is usually to a depth, as in a height that the falling person has to travel as part of their journey to the ground. If you, as the reader, fall to your own depth, there is a possibility that you were pushed. Why/how else could you fall to a depth without knowing it? Falling into depth could also be a play on words for Death, since many of my other poems speak about Death and how easy it is to fall into a trap set by Death. The word of ‘falling’ could also imply that there was a height to which you, as the reader, reached before the fall. This could be a physical height where you are while reading this poem, or a metaphorical height where you have achieved greatness and your only way is down.

No escape,—
No escape from where? From the physical or metaphorical height you are in, or what you, as the reader, climbed to achieve greatness, or so you could see others from a different vantage point. The word ‘escape’ also implies a place of safety away from where this escape is happening, and if this is the case, how would you, as the reader, escape from your fate of falling, or become the villain by pushing the falling person to their depth. Again, this could be a metaphor for not being able to escape your own fate and have no choice but to fall, regardless of what you do. In another way, ‘no escape’ could mean there is no escape from a set path. In this case, the set path is falling, and reading this poem as the way to fulfill the prophecy of falling: Reading this poem gives the depth and escape room a means to live.

No light in their eyes,—
Whose eyes? The eyes of the falling person, you, as the reader, or the eyes of the poet themselves? A space that is void of light is usually a tunnel or an area where falls happen more frequently. Without light, diurnal beings like humans and most animals will fall prey to falling—either into depth or in general—more often. This could put the poet and you, as the reader, in danger of not understanding the surroundings. If there isn’t any light, how could anyone move, let alone escape? The word ‘eyes’ can be seen as a way of seeing, which is the most accepted way, but what happens when someone has eyes, but these eyes don’t work? We need light to see anything because of how our brains and eyes function, but the absence of light is usually also assigned to the Dead. Is the poet speaking about a blind or Dead person in this case?

No freedom.—
How would the falling person know what freedom is if they were never able to escape from the world the poet created to trap them, and more importantly, how will the falling person (or anyone else) have freedoms other than what was given to them by the poet and poem itself? Is the concept of freedom consigned to the earlier paragraph where the falling person fell to the depth, and is only free in that line, but a captor in the other lines? If the falling person was granted freedom in later lines because they escaped (but did they?) how would they know? Without freedom, the falling person has to accept their fate; however, it falls because they wouldn’t have the freedom to do anything else, nor would they have the means to challenge anyone taking their freedoms away. How would the falling person know who controls their freedom if they don’t have the freedom of thought to question their reason for falling?

No colours of the rainbow,—
This is the first time colors have been introduced, but the question is: Is the concept of a rainbow the same for everyone, including the falling person? What of the falling person is blind and doesn’t have a frame of reference for what colors should look like? Would the falling person know what a rainbow is without seeing one? This could also mean that the falling person knows what a rainbow is because it was described to them, but without colors of their own to reference, their rainbow won’t have the accepted rainbow colors. If the falling person is Dead (and not blind), what colors will they see: colors of the dirt around their coffin or the steel grey of an incinerator? In the case of the incinerator, would the (Dead) falling person also see the colors of fire? Another take on this could be that there aren’t any colors of the rainbow because there isn’t a rainbow at all, only the colors the falling person sees as they fall.

Only darkness.—
Is darkness a color? Can it be a color? If there is only darkness, was there a rainbow at all, or was it in the minds of the falling person and the poem alone? If darkness were a color, would it be black or grey (like the incinerator), or would it be the color it was assigned by the poet? If darkness were a color and there is nothing but darkness left, it could be that there is only darkness left because the colors of the rainbow have also gone. This implies darkness has the intent to copy what is around it, which leads to a form of intelligence, since copying those around you is a survival mechanism. Does this mean the darkness in this poem is a person? Could it be the reader or poet? The falling person wasn’t given a name or a way to identify themselves. Could it be that the falling person and the darkness are the same thing, or did the falling person become darkness after falling to a depth no light could reach?

I’m falling into a trap,—
This is the first time the use of “I” has been used in this poem. This changes a lot of the previously–made assumptions of the reader and poet, and the possibility of them being both darkness and present in the poem is no longer valid. “I” in a poem usually means the poet, so this means that the falling person isn’t the reader or darkness itself, the falling person is the poet. In this case, the poet has had their freedoms stripped, if we look at the previous lines and paragraphs, and the poet is also either blind or Dead. With these options, how is the poet writing at all, and how would they know what a rainbow is? If the poet is falling into a trap as stated in this line, how would they know who set it, and who set it, since the only beings in this poem include the poet (which we now acknowledge as the falling person), you, as the reader, and the poem itself. Since you, as the reader, can’t interact with the poem, the only other being that could have set the trap is the poem itself.

Help me.—
Is this the poet asking for help? The poet should know how to help themselves since this is their own poem, but what sometimes happens in literature is the piece develops a mind of their own and can’t be stopped until the final line is written. I like to think of it as a means to a gruesome end: The poet is at the mercy of the words and characters on the page, and the only way to finish the story is to actually finish it, even if the poet’s life is put in danger as a result. The line of ‘help me’ can be seen as a final desperate attempt of the poet pleading to the poem to help them and end their misery before the final line of the poem (because the poet doesn’t know what that is, yet, only the poet does), or it could be a plea from the original concept of the falling person (now the poet) for a way down into the darkness without being trapped again. By whom? The poet and darkness don’t know.

Wait,—
Who should wait? The reader? Why should the reader wait for anything? Isn’t the point of reading a poem to read until the end without waiting? In that case, the reader is probably waiting for the poet to decide what to do with all these lines, not knowing that the poet themselves have very little to do with what is placed on the page and where.

I see a tunnel.—
The “I” in this line is most definitely the poet since they showed themselves in an earlier line. Could this be the tunnel the falling person saw in the beginning of the poem and was compelled to dive in, to fall into the darkness for the sake of the poem? If there isn’t anything happening in the poem and the lines that read, why should you, as the reader, read the poem at all? By swallowing your curiosity in the tunnel from the first line of the poem and the act of falling, the tunnel the poet sees could be their own tunnel that gives this poem meaning. On the other hand, this tunnel could be the tunnel where they became blind or experienced Death, which is where the concept of darkness became a part of the poet’s eyes, even more so than the unseen rainbow.

Brilliant light in their eyes,—
As the opposite of darkness, a brilliant light in their (whose) eyes could bring about the rainbow and colors that were missing from the beginning of the poem, but the question is whose eyes are seeing this brilliant light? Did the poet come out of their darkness to witness this, or do you, as the reader, experience this light for the poet because they can’t do this themselves?

Freedom of thought,—
Where is this freedom of thought coming from? If we use the same example from the beginning part of the poem, freedom of thought should be impossible because, without a sense of freedom as a result of being trapped, the notion of having something you didn’t know existed seems a bit far–fetched. If this freedom of thought belongs to the poem itself (since it can’t belong to the poet), why does the poem still follow a structure associated with poetry, even if this style doesn’t match the classical definition of a poem (odes, sonnets, pastorals, etc.)? Does the poem really have freedom of thought if it can’t break the rules of poetry and write all over the page instead of following the accepted format? Does freedom of thought exist if people (and poems) who have the capacity for it don’t use it?

Lighting.—
Where is this lighting? In the brilliant eyes from the above lines, or in the eyes of the poem and you, as the reader, shine on to express your freedoms of thought? The connection between freedom of thought and light seems counterintuitive to what the poet was trying to say in the earlier lines. There should be, instead, a link between freedom of thought and the freedom to choose whether or not the poet can and will fall into darkness. In darkness there is no light, but this may be the opposite if the poem itself says so. If lighting is possible in the same poem that discusses darkness, shouldn’t the opposite also be true for the poet themselves: They might not have freedom of thought because the poem needs to be written in a certain way, but if they poem doesn’t care which lines are written where, does this give the poet a sense of freedom of thought that they can exercise at their own discretion?

It is a happy trap of light,—
What is a happy trap of light? The falling where the poet falls into darkness only to be met by light at the bottom because the poem said as much, or is this trap more like the trap discussed earlier, where “I” was used for the first time? Can traps be happy? I suppose this depends on what is in the trap and what happens after the trap is sprung. If the trap has changed from a trap of darkness where falling is inevitable to a trap of light, is it you, the reader, who changed the style of the trap, or were there two traps from the beginning and only one (the darkness one) was visible?

I must help you.—
As the first and final line of this nature in the poem, this “I” could mean a number of things. It could mean the poet themselves, where the poet feels obligated to help the reader through this poem because of its uneasy nature, or the “I” could be the poem itself, speaking to the poet and explaining that they feel obligated to help because they know the poet can’t do anything to stop the words from being written. A final definition of “I” in this context could be the reader who feels an obligation to help the poet as much as they can because they, too, understand that the poet isn’t the mastermind behind the lines. They are instead compelled to write what the poem wants them to write, even if it means their end. Now, as the reader, you are also compelled to read and do what the poem tells you; why else are you here?

The poem wants to be read again, this time from the final line of “I must help you.” as the first line of this new edition of the poem, while the first line of the poem of “Falling into depth,” should be read as the final line. After reading the poem a second time in this format, do you, as the reader, believe the poem has free will, or is it the reader’s free will to choose how to read poetry pieces in front of them that gives the poem and poet their own free will?

What do you think? Do you agree with my understanding and symbolism? I’d love to know!

Please use this [ link ] to the optional forum to start a discussion about the poem. Alternatively, you can use any of the email links from the contact [ page ].

Week Four:

Hurt—2004. Age 15

You get hurt,

You cry.

You weep,

You ask for a shoulder,

And you sob gratefully.

Your dignity is lost,

Your freedom is challenged,

Your tears are streaming,

Your fears are screaming,

Why are you grateful?

Analogy

You get hurt,—

The context of this poem can be seen in different ways: You, as the reader, could be hurt emotionally and the result includes the remainder of this stanza, which could explain how you feel, or you could be hurt physically, and the result is the context in the second stanza. If you, as the reader, are hurt, who hurt you? Do you know them in person or did they hurt you because you are associated with something or someone they don’t like, where they hurt you to get back at whom they have the major issue with?

You cry.—

Crying is a unique and accepted response for when people get hurt, or you, as the reader, could cry because of another reaction. Anger or disappointment could also be a reason for crying, or at least expressing an emotion where you feel powerless to control. If you, as the reader, get hurt and cry as a result, has the hurt dissipated a little? That’s essentially what crying is: A release of emotions and hormones when your system is overloaded with stimuli compared to your normal state (which isn’t crying, hopefully), so your body can be rid of the additional stressors. There are people who can’t cry; they either have a medical condition that doesn’t allow their tear ducts to create any tears, or they could have a mental illness where their responses and reactions to other stimuli don’t work properly. If this person was hurt by another, should they still be considered ‘hurt,’ even if they don’t express their hurt emotions compared to others around them? If you, as the reader, are unable to cry, how else do you illustrate to others that you are hurt? If you can’t cry, will those around you know you know you are hurt because they know you, or will they assume everything is okay? How could you tell them otherwise without feeling unworthy of their care? Is this what hurt means?

You weep,—

Why do you think the poet made the difference between ‘cry’ and ‘weep’? What do you understand by ‘weep’? The way the poet sees ‘weep’ is uncontrollable crying, like you would do at a funeral or wake of a very close loved one, or the reasonable reaction when you, as the reader, receive devastating or sudden news and your only reaction to this would be to weep. What else can you do when crying isn’t enough? Weeping is also usually seen as an act for a specific setting: At a funeral, where the word ‘weep’ is often associated with the word ‘wail’. Although ‘weep’ and ‘wail’ sound familiar and are often used simultaneously, wailing is generally seen as more intense than ‘weep.’ Wailing can’t be done everywhere since it isn’t as socially acceptable as weeping. You can weep silently, without bothering anyone, which helps the age–old mantra of ‘suffer in silence’.

You ask for a shoulder,—

Asking for a shoulder to cry on is quite common, but what happens when there aren’t any shoulders to cry on in the first place? When you, as the reader, weep into your own or someone else’s shoulder, the next stage (after being hurt and weeping) is acceptance. Acceptance of why you needed a shoulder at all, and an acceptance of the shoulder given to you. This might not be the shoulder of the person you wanted it to be, but if you, as the reader, need a shoulder, you can’t always choose who you lean on. If you, as the reader, are hurt enough, the shoulder doesn’t matter as much as the gesture of care, faked or genuine, it doesn’t matter. If you, as the reader, ask for a shoulder out of desperation, you might not be looking at the head at the end of those shoulders.

And you sob gratefully.—

Why are you grateful? Are you grateful for the shoulder to cry on, or are you grateful for the chance to share your pain? Or are you grateful that you have the ability to sob without being judged by the person who owns the shoulders you are crying on? If these shoulders support your weeping, are you grateful for the support in general or the person who has the shoulders, regardless of their intentions?

Your dignity is lost,—

If the first sentence in this analogy is true, this line could mean ‘hurt’ in a physical way. In this case, you, as the reader, could lose your dignity if you are physically hurt and the marks or scars of where you were hurt can be seen. This brings us to these questions: What is dignity? How can it be taken away? In this case, your dignity can be lost or at least diminished in two ways: A physical mark on your body that you understand as a blemish—and something to be ashamed of—or your dignity could be lost or diminished if, after you were hurt emotionally, your self worth decreased and you feel your dignity slipping away because your sense of self isn’t as strong as it was compared to before you were hurt, or it might not have been very strong to start off with which leads to a further loss of dignity.

Your freedom is challenged,—

This line brings us to this question: What is freedom? If your freedom can be challenged after a loss of dignity, was it a freedom at all? Shouldn’t freedoms be freedoms regardless of how you, as the reader, feel on a daily basis? If this is the case, your freedom could be tied to your dignity and when the physical aspects of the ‘hurt’ you suffered are seen, your freedoms could be taken away from you. For example, if you have been hurt and the evidence is on your face, your social freedoms could be removed because people in your circle don’t know how to react to anyone different from them. When this freedom is challenged, the physical aspect of your ‘hurt’ could become an emotional hurt, but the difference is that fewer people will lend you their shoulders because they don’t want anything to do with you.

Your tears are streaming,—

Tears stream, that’s what they do and how they work if you, as the reader, can create tears at all. Why did the poet make a point of explaining what your tears are doing? What else could they be doing? In a way, streaming tears could also be a way of how dignity is lost. For most people, there are acceptable times to cry (and weep), and times when you, as the reader, should instead smile or not show negative emotions at all. If tears are streaming when they should be stopped, the internal hurt you feel could be your tears alone: If not for your tears, there wouldn’t be a reason you needed someone’s shoulder to cry on in the first place.

Your fears are screaming,—

This is the first time in this poem that ‘fears’ are mentioned. Why do you think the poet used the word fears in the same set of lines as the first poem, where the shoulder was discussed? Do you think fears have anything to do with why the poem is called “Hurt”? Do you think fears can be hurt, or is it usually the other way around? Unlike weeping or crying, as earlier discussed, screaming is a lot louder than crying or weeping, so why do you think the poet chose to change what was allowed on behalf of the person who needed a shoulder to quietly cry on earlier? It could be that you, as the reader, have changed the style and ambition of the poet, where the poet needs you to understand fear, and the only way to do this is to hear a possibly guttural scream as the only outlet for a fear you can’t escape from.

Why are you grateful? —

Grateful for what? For the shoulder that may or may not be a genuine embrace, or grateful for the fact that you make tears at all? Another way of thinking about this is that you, as the reader, are grateful that you have anything at all to cry about. This means that you feel strongly about something to the point of emotion, and since we aren’t robots, feeling emotion should help us understand why we hurt at all.

What do you think? Do you agree with my understanding and symbolism? I’d love to know!

Please use this [ link ] to the optional forum to start a discussion about the poem. Alternatively, you can use any of the email links from the contact [ page ].

There are spaces without written content on either side of the page. This is by design and to avoid me waffling instead of adding thought–out pieces of writing.

These spaces can also be used to rest your eyes between blocks of text and give you, the reader, time to process and analyze what has been said on the page so far.

Not everything needs to be jam–packed with writing and an opportunity to respond. Sometimes we need the quiet moments and empty spaces to reflect and prepare ourselves for what comes next.

Thank you for your interest in Write Remedy: Vial Blossoms where curiosity is key, and everything else falls into place.