Not the Best Name For It, Maybe
Not the Best Name For It, Maybe
My boohoo won’t
to a shirtfront press,
its ring-ding wringing of face
needing space
from pat flattening,
forced comfort.
Boohoo not the best name, maybe,
for what laments the same not being
the same–
you not being the you,
the true not being the true–
that voodoo of what we do
to one another.
**********************************
A drafty 55 for With Real Toads, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor. Sorry for the long hiatus. Going through a terribly challenging period at my job. Photo (not sure it fits but like it) is mine. Milkweed fluff on a frosted leaf.
Explore posts in the same categories: 55, poetry, UncategorizedTags: boohoo poem, flash 55, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com, manicddaily, the voodoo of what we do poem
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ManicDDaily 
October 31, 2015 at 3:00 pm
I wonder what’s the best name for lament really.. for me it’s not even boohoo but more the soft sound of a teaspoon stirring the tea… hmm
October 31, 2015 at 3:28 pm
Ha. Your comment is a poem in itself. k.
On Sat, Oct 31, 2015 at 4:00 PM, ManicDDaily wrote:
>
October 31, 2015 at 3:36 pm
I might do a second entry… hmm yes that sound is delicious….
October 31, 2015 at 4:23 pm
Ha
October 31, 2015 at 5:00 pm
You wrote a poem about boo-hoo! Very creative!
October 31, 2015 at 5:47 pm
I quite like the word “lament” in English which sounds like “lamento” in Spanish. Lovely poem. Sorry to hear about your work problems.
Greetings from London.
October 31, 2015 at 9:24 pm
The ‘Voo Do’ rang my bell. Thanks, k.
..
November 1, 2015 at 12:40 am
Lamentation is so crucial to the human condition, it connects us and yet we feel so isolated when going through the process. Boohoo does not seem the best name for it, but I guess that’s what it amounts to.
November 1, 2015 at 8:17 am
I have read this three times before the sounds feel into a pattern–the pattern of that weepy leaking which is not a sobbing or a rending yowl, yet carries both within unborn like some pregnant elephant. Nonetheless the sense of a fragile and draconian control is uppermost. What we do to each other good and bad is so often beyond tears, and difficult to name.
November 1, 2015 at 8:32 am
It is an odd poem; I have been playing a lot with sound but not carrying through a form–I don’t know if that is laziness–maybe–though I like form– here I was thinking a lot of the cummings ones I’ve been reading, but it is hard for me to take bigger leaps into what could sound like a non sequitur–I may have to make myself be very obvious about it and then see what happens. Thanks. k.
November 1, 2015 at 8:20 am
Oh, great contrast of sounds/ words/ feel between the two stanzas, where you go from the uptight pressing of shirtfronts to voodoo.
November 1, 2015 at 9:03 am
Nice contrasts !
November 1, 2015 at 11:21 am
Nice, Karin… Tricky writing, perfectly seasonal.
November 1, 2015 at 11:07 pm
The voodoo of what we do …. that is excellent!
November 2, 2015 at 12:53 am
Very good illustration of the messiness that is crying; sobs, confusion and hiccups and everything.
November 2, 2015 at 10:13 pm
Interesting poem! In its approach, I mean. You always go somewhere unexpected, and I love that. ‘Milkweed fluff on a frosted leaf’ is a line of poetry!