March 6th, 2021

Sally Salt Disgusted

I can do better. (Poem thoughts!)

I've been doing a poem. I'm going to talk about what's wrong with it.

First, the poem:




The Tiring
by Christopher Walsh, 2/25/2021-3/6/2021


What's made me mad at times? Okay, let's see:
The unfair ease ignoring grants to some.
Some go ahead and lie. It's easier.
Debunking is hard work: a tedious
Correction and correction which can just be
Ignored. Dismissed. Laughed off. "It doesn't match
What I've decided." That's the subtext, for
The Lazy. Smug, convince, unswayed. And Loud.
Habitually, endlessly just loud.
It's not enough that they be heard: they must
Drown out the ones Not-Them. Add noise
On top of noise on still more noise on top
Of signal they just don't like hearing. Ugh.
It can get worse, and harsher: maybe they
Have pushed you back, have pushed you out, to face,
Unaided, tough times. Not their problem, if
They'd rather not. And not their problem, if
They folded in their eyes then rolled up hearts
And blocked and barricaded. Easier
To do than giving good-goddamn support
And love and fucking empathy at least
To everyone who hurts. Who hurts still more.
Who screams internally but keeps it in
And in and in and in and in and "AARGH"
Then "Whoa, you don't have any cause for that."
Which lets them off the hook. At least, they think.
(Not Listening: a skill. It can be, yes.)
So: are you tired, or tiring?
-------------------------------------We'll see.

© Christopher Walsh, 2021. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


...um, I've been mad at times lately. Several reasons, more than what's listed here; all I'll say is, I've been working on it. I don't handle well being mad; I get more easily flustered and I have more trouble communicating. Generally I hold it in and don't say anything, because I figure I'd say it badly. Legit concern; I don't want to give people reasons not to listen.

So this poem came out. It's sloppy. The ideas don't seem well-developed. Lots of repeated words, only sometimes for effect. To quote Christopher Marlowe in that issue of Neil Gaiman's Sandman, "At least it scans, but..." There's almost no imagery to this, and I'd kind of hoped it would be more image-heavy. Seems like the poem should be either much longer or much shorter. I'm publishing it now so it can be done, or as done as it can be, and move on to writing something else.

But, it finally lets me use a line I wrote years ago for a poem's rough draft, one I abandoned but kept lines from, and that, slightly rewritten here, is "They folded in their eyes then rolled up hearts." I like that. Maybe I'll use it somewhere else, and use it better.

For all of you who stuck through this, thank you, and enjoy this Sesame Street cartoon on why, sometimes, being mad's a good idea.