On Regret

June 2, 2009 at 7:26 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 19 Comments
Tags: poetry, writing

… but then again too few to mention.”

unaccidental drunken stumblings into the politely dressed
carefully encoded as polymorpheous anti-reactions
to the crawling ants of patronisation

those lovely odd morning vague
half forgotten sore knuckle feelings

several fumblings whose consent
was hardly rational constituting
no more than the usual markings
of place in the world

“killed a cat” scratching his ear
with his last back leg
and wondering when he’ll
next be fed

19 Comments »

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“killed a cat” is from Sid Vicious’ rendering of “My Way”.
Whoops. I think you might have upset some people, Squires. I really like this poem but. Should have tagged it ‘writing as time travel’. I suspect things are only going to get darker this week, but we’ll see.

Comment by Paul— June 2, 2009 #
sounds like a good night out
A little compendium of many good nights out in my early twenties, Samantha.

Comment by Samantha— June 2, 2009 #
Seems a tale of ennui..

So many contrasts, kinda in, kinda out, kinda maybe not there…

Except that dog does want to be fed…

Nice…

Poetman
Thanks, Poetman. Nice to see you around.

Comment by 1poet4man— June 3, 2009 #
a splendid rock, a boulder that falls slowmotion off the ledge
reverbs to bones when it touches down
thank you for inspiring writing Paul
That is a wonderful comment, Tipota. Thankyou.

Comment by tipota— June 3, 2009 #
“those lovely odd morning vague
half forgotten sore knuckle feelings”
I could not think of a proper comment, maybe that I wished to be the one writing it…
That is a proper comment, thankyou, Annamari.

Comment by Annamari— June 3, 2009 #
Haha, is he on his ‘last legs’? Brilliant. See you on Saturday, Squires, we can relive your glory days.
Bring beer.

Comment by Andrew— June 3, 2009 #
This brought back the disturbing sensation of a hangover circa 1991, after a very successful BBQ by the lake. You do have a tremendous ability to make visual that which is sort of intangible or at least difficult to name or grasp. That was a damn good BBQ though. lol
Thankyou. I’m glad it bought back pleasant memories as well as hungover ones.

Comment by valbrussell— June 3, 2009 #
Hi Paul.

Don’t know if this is called a collage of sorts. Anyway I like the way the persona seems an outside observer.
Cool, I’m glad you enjoyed it. A kind of collage, yes.

Comment by benjaminchew110478— June 3, 2009 #
Been there Paul, and didn’t your word-ramble bring it back 🙂
Cool, hopefully without the sore knuckles in your case, Maxine. Although I imagine you could throw a mean right hook under the right circumstances.

Comment by Maxine Clarke— June 3, 2009 #
This excellent poem evokes a sharp combination of melancholy, frustration, and longing — amazing, Paul. And your phrase “the crawling ants of patronisation”… brilliant.
Thankyou, Thomma Lyn.

Comment by Thomma Lyn— June 3, 2009 #
Ha! Memories rekindled with your words written.Good write, you.
Thankyou, Saraha.

Comment by SarahA— June 3, 2009 #
I’ve woken up to that sort of morning too…just this Sunday…lol. Enjoyed this write. 🙂
Haha, Saturday must have been fun, Tina. Thankyou.

Comment by Tina— June 3, 2009 #
Poor cat. Although in most of the spats I’ve seen, the dog often comes off worse, haha. Can you teach an old dog new tricks? I’m not sure.
Haha, you could, Narnie.

Comment by Narnie— June 4, 2009 #
Ah, every cat for itself 🙂 sometimes stones break glass houses, it happens 😦
Oh, one smiley face, one grumpy face, I’m confused. Haha, you rock, Ms Mist.

Comment by Mental Mist— June 4, 2009 #
unaccidental… isn’t that the way of all things… that last back leg… wonderin is that the missin leg from the wanderin 3 legd dog… just wonderin… not too deep ya know… but then again it is abt regret…
Yes it is. Hello again, Ms Pie. Your poetry is gorgeous.

Comment by pieceofpie— June 4, 2009 #
Ah Paul, I bet you even piss poetry, don’t you? You’re like a Transformer made of words, it’s gobsmacking. Sometimes your poems make the sun come out, sometimes they’re like a perfume that suffuses me in happy nostalgia, sometimes they make me laugh and they always make me wonder.
Cool, wonder is always a good thing. I live in a perpetual state of oscillating between befuddlement and wonder.

Comment by Sack Posset— June 5, 2009 #
“killed a cat” scratching his ear
with his last back leg =

You’ve succeeded in making me angry at the pup and said for him all at once on the strength of these two lines.

You enjoy toying with my emotions, don’t you?
I do, Bryan.

Comment by poeticgrin— June 6, 2009 #
I too was delighted by the poem. And like Annamari, I too was struck by the line: “those lovely odd morning vague half forgotten sore knuckle feelings”. I felt it at a visceral level.

There is much here to encourage more readings of it.
Thankyou, Qazse. Your tiny beautiful poems are an insipiration and perfect rolemodels for anyone interested in the craft of the immaculate.

Comment by qazse— June 6, 2009 #
Paul,

At the risk of sounding falsely modest, I must say it is very hard for me to accept such praise. Nonetheless, I will embrace it with a smile. Thank you and warm regards.

Comment by qazse— June 9, 2009 #