Flashes thrust upon me
Struggling, pushing memory
Carbon monoxide dreams whisper
Come greet us drifter
Don’t want to sleep like Anne
Just let me give a damn
© T. Altman 2017
Poem: Depression
spoken word
National Poetry Month: April
So National Poetry Month is in April and started a few days ago.
This year I will be celebrating this month by writing a poem everyday as part of #thedirtythirty challenge.
Don’t Tell Me
Don’t Tell Me
Don’t tell me what I can or cunt do
Don’t try to censor me with your personal bias
I am not your mouth piece and never claimed it
I don’t crave your acceptance or require it
Try stifling my speech and see what a territorial bitch I can be
Try throwing archaic values you’ve placed upon locution I feel empowered by
Sisters in solidarity is what we should be
Instead the use of one term divides us
Disagree with me and shame me down
Shame on you for censoring my language
I reclaim the noun – the verb – the word
I use it proud and loud
For I am the CUNT who takes it back and brings it to the fore
For I am the CUNT who refuses to bend to your fickle contempt
For CUNTS everywhere –
I seize and celebrate whilst waving your policing views adieu
(C) T. Altman 2017
Remedy
Remedy
Stumbling preeminent neediness
Into stony seas of logical distress
Exploring with detected trepidation
Analyzing abysmal wretchedness
Commanding intelligent selflessness
For what purpose, point and pine
For the tumbling truth
For the painful promise
For the rhyming ridicule
For the salacious savvy
For the remedy of writing
Resolutely the enormity is me
(c) T. Altman 2017
Big Black Dog
Big Black Dog
He growls
He barks
He bites
He whimpers and yelps
Its Me who owns him
Yet He dictates my moods
(c) T. Altman 2017
Allotrope
Honey soaked, troubled notes
Pierced within cracking walls
Unreleased burdens, build and topple
Foraged for tranquil peace
Regarded as flotsam – inestimable instead
Paragon of the genetrix cue
Lumbered pressure allotropes does make
Verse (c) T. Altman 2017
(Image: Woman Aflame by Dali)
Female Walking
We want equal pay and equal rights
Who cares about fucking traffic lights
Tax Payers forking out the cash
To look at female signs whilst they dash
There needs to be more gender equality
But this my friend is simple council polity
(C) T. Altman, 7/3/2017
Inspired by the news that Melbourne council is adding female walking signs:
News Article Link: Victorian Pedestrian Crossing Equal Walking Signs
Astro
Astro
Conjuncting planets
Surface inner wounds
Heal Heal Heal
Numbing emotions
Starving the loons
Heal Heal Heal
Retrograde complices
Cultivates clear transmutation
Heal Heal Heal
(C) T. Altman 2017
A Tribute to the Prioress
A Tribute to the Prioress
Hoodwinked mink draped, disheveled
Acid lined lips, solarium burns
Archaic Bitch diesel, mingled menthol
Yellow talons tapping antagonistic dissimilarity
Vacuous ill-disposed soul
T. Altman 2017
Poetry Writing Style
I was around 21 when I showed a friend some of the poetry I had written up to that point. We were planning on attending a poetry reading group and I wanted some feedback on my work before going “public”with it. It was a huge deal for me, as before this I had never shown anyone my poetry.
This friend was very focused and silent, whilst she looked through my notebook of handwritten poems…mostly in neat print which at times became cursive. After what seemed like an eon, she looked up at me and said “you write like Sylvia Plath” to which I replied “Who?“, as I had no idea who Sylvia Plath was at the time.
Like I’ve mentioned before – I wasn’t exposed to the best English literature at the working class public schools I attended growing up. For the most part and if I am speaking frankly, I don’t ever recall being taught anything about poetry or poets for that matter. The poets I had been exposed to were the ones I found on my own. These tended to be poets from the Romantic era like Byron, Shelley, Keats and Poe, as I had developed an obsession with the Victorian period as a teen.
Soon after, I found myself borrowing my friends copy of her collection of Sylvia Plath’s work and realized that my poetry did resemble her style. This was completely unintentional and worried me so much I stopped writing for a while. I was so fearful about not emulating that it made me stop creating any work at all!
Then, I finally read “The Bell Jar”. I completely resonated and understood where the protagonist was coming from. Something inside clicked. I released the expectation and worry I had placed upon myself.
I went back to writing poetry and I write the way I am compelled to. Whether it be free or rhyme, flowing or constructed, personal or observational – I don’t care what I sound like. As long as I am getting my feelings out and expressing myself as I feel compelled to, I feel good about it.
Syliva’s style was autobiographical and so is mine and we deal with the same subject matter of depression, disturbances and death. The older I get the more comfortable I get with my poetry and as long as I personally feel something when I write it, I will keep at it.
If you would like to read some of my work, here are a few poems I have written in the last year:
“Wear your heart on your skin in this life.”
― Sylvia Plath
(c) T. Altman 2017
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