The Bones of A Water-Logged Persistence (Swimmer's Lilt)

A hospitable transmutation—

         Converting nature to nature and form to form

A morpheme unexpected

Provides an individuality all it’s own

Where in duodenum, a plurality’s construed

While in jejunum, emptiness is found after death,

The ileum is the tertiary of the small

It connects to the Cecum, a pouch, uniting the small to large

Phenotypic variation is essential

when evolving from shallow to deep

Genetic pools that drown us under—

A quick flushing finds a tide reigning upon sensation

If not for the (sick) gills mutation’s provided

I’d have floated jetsam like the rest—unable to

Find stowage in some (ill-tempered) future’s ark

         Yet I can swim, and I’m free to swim

Even in these predatory seas,

         I still have a chance, I still have chance, water-wings and all

An extremely late entry to this week Open Link Night over at D'Verse.

My niece brought home a nasty cold from day care a few weeks ago, and I had thought I escaped it's wrath, but last Wednesday I awoke feeling quite miserable, which of course I poo-pooed aside, as a case of getting out of bed on the wrong side.  Well, as the day progressed, so did the bug.  Needless to say I got some medicine and for the most part hadn't really left the house too much since then.  Outside of a couple visits to the store for necessities and a foolish jaunt to the movies on Sunday when I was feeling better, (relapse anyone?), pretty much been a sleep fest with a side of chicken soup.  Well, feeling much better now, but not going to make the same mistake twice, going to keep laying low for the next couple of days until I'm confident this bug is gone for good, which I'm able to do.  Funny thing, it's the first case of unemployment actually allotting me anything of benefit:)  

So, anyhow, haven't been writing really much of late.  But I happened to find the framework of the piece I'm posting right now, which I tweaked a little bit right now, as I didn't want to miss out on OLN and the great company of the D'Verse poets.  So, hopefully I'll be up to speed come tomorrow for tomorrow's event.  I am hopeful that'll be the case, as, (knock on wood), -actually knocking-I am actually feeling much better.  Anyhow.  Quit reading this and head on over to D'verse for the last few hours of Open Link Night. Cheers.

Dirty Pool

Typically when I work on a poem I begin with a thought, a phrase, a general idea of the direction I want to explore.  Sometimes it's a song, a word, an influx that will stir the juices and inspire me.  That's all pre-writing though.  When I get ready to write the process can vary.  Sometimes I just sit down and start writing, in fact that's a big part of my process.  I feel that writing down a stream of your thoughts, unfiltered, is a great way to just get unique ideas down on paper.  This free-formed writing also assists in clearing the mind, which is an added benefit I thought I'd mention.  Other times though, I'll sit with a pad of paper and simply start brainwriting, jotting down anything that comes to mind regarding a subject.  I may peruse a dictionary or some other types of reference work to paint a clearer list of ideas or things I can work with.  Once I have a deep enough list I'll start by sorting it out in my mind, grabbing the best route that works for me and then begin to write.  Anyhow, like I mentioned the process changes all the time, so there is definitely something to the old strike while the iron's hot saying. In the case for Dirty Pool I did some brainstorming prior to writing the poem.  Here's one of the sheets I came up with.  

The quotes used come from a Stevie Ray Vaughn song, Dirty Pool, thought it fit in well with the overall piece.

Lane lines bob from the wake

Eight across, blocks empty

Nothing shallow about pretending

“True love is gone,

Played for a fool”

         In a game of dirty pool

Filters clogged with bugs and scum

Discolored and cloaked in film

None of this will matter once the winter comes

Jackknife, Swan dive

In the air, unaware

Of the whistles blow

Oblivious until the dart stroke did him in

Simple technique is all it takes

To pull a trick, to abate

One hand magic-double blind

Cut-spin-plop & stun

3 go down

To the power of 9

Wings clipped as the wedding spins around

Just like Stevie said:

“True love is gone,

Played for a fool”

In this game of dirty pool

Felt scratched

Cue the underground

Chalked and snookered

Unsportsmanlike

Buoys fade

Before the English banks again

Empty pockets

In the hole

Damned near drowning

Legs like glue

Only so much treading

A man can do

Playing for the two

But missing the one

Masse spins

Dishonesties won

  Pendulum strikes

Then follows through

Always behind the eight

If you never care enough to learn the rules

Always the hustler

Wet inside

As the easy way out

Becomes a friend to see

8-9-10

Just like Stevie said:

True love is gone,

Played for a fool,

In a game of dirty pool