“a different kind of poverty, now afflicts my soul”
it appear the muses came today to contradict me,
interdict me,
forbidding me to sur~cease
(an archaic word, comme moi)
when I spake these words
“have mined so oft my core,
it is quite the hugest bore”
the voyage to the center of my earth,
seemingly be a perpetuity destination,
which the muses stern-fully informed, cannot be concluded
until the perp, c’est moi,
is how shall I say this delicately,
be fully arrested
~~
55 years I have listened to this particular strong sad song,
and the title of this poem, but a single lyric within it contained,
always commanded me
today
it arrested me once more, froze me to the spot,
bade me ignore it no more,
for you, my sad soul,
well ken this affliction
and I discover that any journey forward,
can only be concluded by looking backwardly,
awkward as that may be, maybe,
the colloquial colonial expression,
you can’t go home again deserves its very own
*terik
~~~
the poverty that afflicts me is a multiplicity of sins,
where forgiveness is neither oddly asked for, nor even
able to be
granted, unless I do so,
and they are too grievous,
so audaciously unforgivable
that my cored turmoil knows too well,
eternal relief,
is from the list of worldly impossibilities,
a/k/a
fool’s beliefs
they are grave,
and the law of gravity
is unbreakable,
so yet must I drill deeper,
not expecting to find
the purest olive oil of relief
and this
poverty of my humanity,
that has afflicted,
these conflicted deeds,
will expire with
my last, best poem,
and the upset
will be finally,
offset
Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 2:41 PM UTC
“a different kind of poverty, now afflicts my soul”
it appear the muses came today to contradict me,
interdict me,
forbidding me to sur~cease
(an archaic word, comme moi)
when I spake these words
“have mined so oft my core,
it is quite the hugest bore”
the voyage to the center of my earth,
seemingly be a perpetuity destination,
which the muses stern-fully informed, cannot be concluded
until the perp, c’est moi,
is how shall I say this delicately,
be fully arrested
~~
55 years I have listened to this particular strong sad song,
and the title of this poem, but a single lyric within it contained,
always commanded me
today
it arrested me once more, froze me to the spot,
bade me ignore it no more,
for you, my sad soul,
well ken this affliction
and I discover that any journey forward,
can only be concluded by looking backwardly,
awkward as that may be, maybe,
the colloquial colonial expression,
you can’t go home again deserves its very own
*terik
~~~
the poverty that afflicts me is a multiplicity of sins,
where forgiveness is neither oddly asked for, nor even
able to be
granted, unless I do so,
and they are too grievous,
so audaciously unforgivable
that my cored turmoil knows too well,
eternal relief,
is from the list of worldly impossibilities,
a/k/a
fool’s beliefs
they are grave,
and the law of gravity
is unbreakable,
so yet must I drill deeper,
not expecting to find
the purest olive oil of relief
and this
poverty of my humanity,
that has afflicted,
these conflicted deeds,
will expire with
my last, best poem,
and the upset
will be finally,
offset
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