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jill_1Poems
I don’t want to sound like a ****** Accidentally pretentious I sense this, prevent this With pausings in musings But consciousness, man It’s a whole thing, isn’t it? Moving, zipping, travelling Across time and place No shifts in space Ultimate game of Pong Bats are half images, ghosts of smells, light or heavy ****** impacts, sounds, songs, poems Triggers lightly but firmly bouncing us from now to then, then to when, but always here to here Across time and place No shifts in space Sometimes transitions are smooth and buttery-safe -- I didn’t even realise I was thinking about trains and now about dinner -- ping, pong, ping, pong -- a metronomic, Wimbledon soundtrack But then one player hits the ball too short and too high and then the Echoing crack Bats us into sometime somewhen darker The feckless defensive player manages to scoop the ball just before it touches sod, but too short and too high and then the Echoing crack Strongly, crisply, sharply Smashed into jangly memory Clear and incomplete Real and impossible Laser focus on The Bad Thing Other details, window dressing Breathing quickens, heart keeps the beat The Image, or The Smell, or The Grip on My Ankle Is faithfully replayed Full colour, Dolby surround sound, Memory cut The Grip on My Ankle Is faithfully replayed The Grip on My Ankle … … … Mind taps out for a bit Consciousness slide into foggy nowhere, no time Breathing slows, heart keeps the beat Might just stay here Cool, fuzzy fog is my best friend Until fog-resistant, persistent stimulus insists that I return Ping Clear-eyed now Pong Pasta sounds nice Triggers lightly bouncing me from here to here
0
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 8:07 PM UTC
Transitions
I don’t want to sound like a ****** Accidentally pretentious I sense this, prevent this With pausings in musings But consciousness, man It’s a whole thing, isn’t it? Moving, zipping, travelling Across time and place No shifts in space Ultimate game of Pong Bats are half images, ghosts of smells, light or heavy ****** impacts, sounds, songs, poems Triggers lightly but firmly bouncing us from now to then, then to when, but always here to here Across time and place No shifts in space Sometimes transitions are smooth and buttery-safe -- I didn’t even realise I was thinking about trains and now about dinner -- ping, pong, ping, pong -- a metronomic, Wimbledon soundtrack But then one player hits the ball too short and too high and then the Echoing crack Bats us into sometime somewhen darker The feckless defensive player manages to scoop the ball just before it touches sod, but too short and too high and then the Echoing crack Strongly, crisply, sharply Smashed into jangly memory Clear and incomplete Real and impossible Laser focus on The Bad Thing Other details, window dressing Breathing quickens, heart keeps the beat The Image, or The Smell, or The Grip on My Ankle Is faithfully replayed Full colour, Dolby surround sound, Memory cut The Grip on My Ankle Is faithfully replayed The Grip on My Ankle … … … Mind taps out for a bit Consciousness slide into foggy nowhere, no time Breathing slows, heart keeps the beat Might just stay here Cool, fuzzy fog is my best friend Until fog-resistant, persistent stimulus insists that I return Ping Clear-eyed now Pong Pasta sounds nice Triggers lightly bouncing me from here to here
©2024 BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (feckless) date 29th September 2024. Weak, ineffective, or worthless.
#wordoftheday#cptsd#consciousness
jill_1
Written by
jill_1
Australia
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 8:07 PM UTC
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