2.08.2011

scarring

my scars
healed or broken
open and scarred again
like tree bark grown over line hooks
or barbed wire fence, splitting healing scarring
scratching scabbing over again
and again, pain inside
kills it, leaving

just scars.

(This poem was inspired by this week's Monday Photo Prompt at my friend Eric Alder's photography blog, Bifocal Univision.)

20 comments:

  1. (A cinquain! Yay!)

    I feel the power behind this one, Marian!

    Sharp like barbed-wire and strong like oak.

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  2. this is really powerful, Marian
    the cycle of pain

    beautifully written

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  3. the accompanying picture was a nice touch. the shape is like a visual thorn. the balance between first and last lines is also well done. i dig it!

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  4. i thought the rictameter form might mimic the shape of the wire in the tree scar. thanks for noticing!

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  5. This truly hits the mark, with the rhythm and flow adding impact to the sentiment. Well done. Don't like pain, but do like the poem.

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  6. I seen a lot of trees that have grown like that. And people too.

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  7. ron, what a treat! commenting on poems, yay! xoxo

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  8. your poem is perfect for Eric's photo!

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  9. eric's photo is perfect, for sure.

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  10. aw, shucks. thanks for coming over, jules.

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  11. Pain can't stop growth. Not smooth perfect skin but a layer of protection, stronger than the original. Beautiful capture here!

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  12. Great poem. The pain stays even when the cuts become scars.

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  13. thanks and yes, you are both right.

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  14. Whheew!! A tight one, Marian! Love leaves scars that show.. and aren't very pretty to the eye...
    But then again, those scars don't stop one from loving again, or from growing!

    A beautifully written poem, my friend!

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  15. I don't think anyone who has ever truly loved ( and lost) wouldn't be able to relate to this poem. I really liked the shape of it, and loved the descriptions of the scars' actions. Sometimes I think those inner scars are the worst ones...the challenge is to not let the heart become a mass of scar tissue. Anyway, I liked the poem. :)

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  16. lonely...beautiful. condemned to picking over and over...the other side of Valentines...

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  17. mister k? you get me. yes, picking and picking.

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