Alone left unattended
Inside my world of consciousness
Unused and lost in my wrinkled womb
Wasted and neglected cerebral spawn
Lay lifeless inside of me
Unattached from umbilical circuits
New ideas are born but never breathe
Misplaced inside a migraine
Miscarried from birth
Print Friendly, PDF & Email

7 Comments so far

  1.   Pru on October 21st, 2011

    I really like it!!!! It goes along with my poem yours is in the metaphorical sence and mine is in the phisical sence…I really hope that made sence…I enjoyed it!

  2.   Pru on October 21st, 2011

    I like how your is about thought abortions…

  3.   samantha on October 21st, 2011

    Pru, actually, my “idea was born” because your poem inspired me. I loved the vividness and the anatomical imagery yours had and so I started thinking and then it hit me. I tend to write about external things and so I shifted towards a different approach. Thanks for reading. And thanks for inspiring me! Glad you liked it =)

  4.   michelle on October 22nd, 2011

    Very well written. I like that the fact you focused on abortions, which is a formed of death.

  5.   Prudence on October 22nd, 2011

    i’m glad i could have helped you….

  6.   erin on October 23rd, 2011

    the fact it isnt long and only a few lines really says something to me. the deepness and darkness that come from the short lines make me really enjoy this. this made me stop and think and feel. i really loved this.

  7.   jenny abeles on October 25th, 2011

    There’s potent imagery here, Sam. I like “wrinkled womb.” The womb is such a powerful image to invoke, reminiscent of caves and dark beginnings, and rhyming with its opposite “tomb.” “Wrinkled” is an unusual way to describe it, tho’, and makes me think of an old woman’s unfruitful womb, or–after reading the poem–a brain. I also really like the notion of ideas “Misplaced inside a migraine.” We misplace ideas all the time, and what happens to them? Where do they go? Orphans of our cognitive processes, lost and unconnected to our lives.

    This is an uncanny “not life not death” poem–uncanny being a good mood to aim for. It strikes me you might have a predilection for it. Check this out:

    Now I have to go read Pru’s…

Leave a Reply

Spam prevention powered by Akismet

Skip to toolbar