We woke early the day spoons fell from the sky,
rubbed gritty eyes, sleepily unaware of incoming metal,
left home to muddle through the mundane.

Early March, dark by six when we returned,
seconds through the door when the shower started,
startling the air with ring and rasp.

I barely recognised her voice

The first hit me blunt, brought me to my knees,
freeze-framed millisecond before the second hit
bit into my scalp, pinned me to the ground

while silver rained around. You dragged me
from the deluge, covered my head.
I fled, bled, remember running the stairs,

aware of the screams, dead dead dead
beneath the clatter, hammered-mettle matter
that left me bludgeoned and bleeding,

surrounded by steel that scooped me hollow,
left me to wallow in double-dense days,
weighed down by the hebetate chemical daze.

Narcosis that left me scrabbling for sharps,
searching in drawers for whetted knives,
anything to feel the edge of the blade.



Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

32 responses to “Blunt

  1. This is a powerful piece. I enjoyed the pull and the flow of it. I was left creating my own meaning and it was enjoyable.

  2. Powerful assault here, made more so for not knowing what was incoming — from the sky? a vicious other? a seizure? meteors? nuclear mayhem? It doesn’t matter as much as the aftermath, the fretful living-on among blades. The abused often comes to side with the abuser, whatever that may be. And cutting is an odd, self-destructive hobby of some I know … Great to see you back here. – Brendan

    • Brendan, hello my friend. This is one of those pieces that will have many interpretations, I think, depending on the reader’s experience and perspective. It is in fact about receiving terrible news, in my case of the accidental death of my dad. It’s taken me almost two decades to find the right words to describe this moment and the days that followed. I always imagined a shock of any magnitude would be sharp but it’s not, there’s an intense bluntness to the physical pain that is felt that can last a very long time.

      I trust you’re well my friend. I’ve been absent from the blogs for a while but will be along to visit you shortly. Will message to catch up some time soon too.

      • Yeah, I know how those assaulting events take a long, long time to find adequate words for. After my younger brother died suddenly in ’08, I spent six weeks writing nothing but verse letters to him. Afterwards I went a long while without being able to write much of anything. I came out of it eventually, as one does from grief, though the damage is always there, a cutting edge, so to speak, to so much of what is left for us to do. And sometimes later events gather up those old dramas and repeat them anew.

        Sorry you had to come by an get hit with another overlong poem. I do try to balance those with things more friendly to the attention-beseiged. See “The Poem As A Trail of Sperm Drying on a Lover’s Belly.” Be well, B.

  3. Very intense piece, and I loved hearing you recite it on SoundCloud. Can feel the emotion behind to words. As always, your wonderful writing leaves me wanting for more!

  4. wow jules…love your voice in this…strong, powerful, fragile, raw..all at the same time… and love your new profile pic…you look AWESOME!!

    • Thanks Claudia, I’m really glad the raw emotion of the piece came over.

      Oh and thanks, the pic was taken in Florence, wish I was sat on the steps soaking up the Italian sunshine right now, it’s pouring with rain and blowing a hoolie in Wales.

  5. holy ccrap…that was intense…raw and real for sure…the end made me think of cutters….i am working with a cutter right now…ok claudias comment made me go look at the pic…very nice…smiles..

    • Thanks Brian, not easy emotions to portray in poetry without going OTT. I can understand why the end would send you in that direction but the knife is a metaphor in the same way as the spoons represent the numbing blunt intensity of the pain.

      Thanks, I love Italy. I tell ya, if I ever come into money (which is highly unlikely) I’ll be giving up the day job, and getting the first plane to Tuscany to go write poetry 24/7 🙂

  6. I’m with Claudia here! loved reading through while listening to the audio – it adds so much to any read – and certainly here – well read, and certainly well written! a great close to this piece! – Narcosis that left me scrabbling for sharps,
    searching in drawers for whetted knives,
    anything to feel the edge of the blade” – enjoyed seeing it up at dVerse. OT

  7. Mysterious and gorgeous. All that falling metal. Seeking a blade. Captivating writing, and audio.

  8. Thanks Jannie, glad you enjoyed.

  9. Would LOVE for you to share this in my Spoken Word group! You can easily upload it by going to my Facebook page and clicking the Dropbox link in the navigation menu! 🙂 Hope to see it there!

  10. Wonderful imagery, both powerful and vivid. I also liked the 3 line verse structure, and the momentary break with the italic.

    Great work here.

  11. Julie,
    Pain that comes from the most friendly implements hurts the most. Your metaphors are astounding. This is an incredible write. In my opinion, the best I’ve read so far tonight. You should get this one published. You really should.

  12. Intense, evocative, fabulous– you’ve compressed these flashing images so beautifully. I feel/hear/taste the metallics of betrayal! xxxj I’m at .

  13. Oh.. I wondered what ‘s raining from the sky 🙂 Very intense and strong images..quite a bit of onomatopoeia here..

  14. Julie..extraordinary poetry. It may have been a couple of decades in the brewing but it feels effortless.. the metaphors as apt as they could possibly be and you have all the music and heart to sing it. The time must have been right. It brings home to me very vividly my mum’s death, which was the subject of one of the first poems I wrote… I know I’ll be going back to it. My link this time is an echo…a happier memory..but the loss doesn’t leave.

    This really is you in all your poetic stature. More accolades!

    • Thank you so much Becky, for your encouragement and your understanding. When you lose a parent you lose such a vital link to your past, so important to share memories while it’s still possible, that way we can pass them down to our own children, it’s all part of the healing process.

  15. you is good…adopt me … read to me… ill bring the blankets.. lol

  16. ~L

    what beauty… really. And the song at the side column is so very beautiful. Is it an original? I really like your blog!


  17. Thanks L. Yes it is an original. A young musician friend of mine heard my recording of my poem Cariad and it inspired the song. He recorded it for his final project in university. Very talented young man, you can find out more about him here.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s