Guest guest Posted December 6, 2010 Report Share Posted December 6, 2010 Oh my Karla that is so sweet of you! Flannery O'Conner is one of my favorites! I'm blushing! Deanna > > > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > > > > > The Chicken > > > > In a roasting pan on the counter > > It sits, naked > > Under the bright lights > > And I watch as she plays > > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > > > She shoves her hand deep into > > This chicken's cavity > > Pulls out a fistfull > > Of paper-wrapped organs > > She tosses one to the cat, > > Who is obligated to eat it > > > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > > Because she can, > > She turns back to this chicken and > > I watch as she makes it dance, > > Holding it by its footless nubs > > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > > > When she's done, she plops > > This chicken back in the pan > > And it's ready for the oven > > For her, it's just dinner > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 6, 2010 Report Share Posted December 6, 2010 Oh my Karla that is so sweet of you! Flannery O'Conner is one of my favorites! I'm blushing! Deanna > > > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > > > > > The Chicken > > > > In a roasting pan on the counter > > It sits, naked > > Under the bright lights > > And I watch as she plays > > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > > > She shoves her hand deep into > > This chicken's cavity > > Pulls out a fistfull > > Of paper-wrapped organs > > She tosses one to the cat, > > Who is obligated to eat it > > > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > > Because she can, > > She turns back to this chicken and > > I watch as she makes it dance, > > Holding it by its footless nubs > > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > > > When she's done, she plops > > This chicken back in the pan > > And it's ready for the oven > > For her, it's just dinner > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 6, 2010 Report Share Posted December 6, 2010 Wow, this really shows what it's like to have to protect yourself. And how keeping out the bad can keep out the good too! I can sure relate to that! > > Wow Deanna, I found your poem incredibly powerful. Thank you for sharing it. You really summed up what it is like for us. I love reading and writing poetry as well. I think it has its own rhythm like music and can be incredibly powerful. Mostly I have written happy poems for my family, but haven't really shared some of the others I keep for myself. I wanted to share one that I wrote a few years back. > > This mask I wear > Doesn't cover my face > But protects me from my fears > > It keeps me safe > And hids my feelings > And protects me from my tears > > This masquerade is no ball > And does not bring me joy > It hides me from friend and foe alike > It does not help me to stand tall > > It is my wall to keep me safe > And my prison that I cannot leave > Instead of protecting me > It pushes away those that would stand by me > > It buries the true strength I have inside > And keeps my true self locked away > It blocks my true feelings and expressions > And seals my lips on what I truly want to say > > This mask I wear to keep me safe > Protects me from everything > From love, from joy, from happiness > From all the good that makes you want to sing > > This mask I wear to hide my face > And protect me from my tears > Hides me from all the good in the world > Even though I built it to hid me from my fears > > It protects me from the hatred and pain > I have experienced in my past > From sadness, tears, cruelty and loss > I built it, so I could last > > But this mask I wear to be strong > Only makes me weak > It keeps me from being myself > And facing up to what I have feared all along > > This mask I wear > I want no longer > But I don't know how to take it off > To feel what is truly inside of me > And no longer be afraid to show it > > I want to show the world > Who I know I can be > To share the love and beauty > I know is dep inside of me > > I want to walk the path of life > Hand-in-hand with friends and true family > To live life to the fullest > No longer being aftraid to just... be ... me! > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 6, 2010 Report Share Posted December 6, 2010 I merely speak truth, Deanna! And I hope you continue to write-- Blessings, Karla p.s. Flannery rocks, doesn't she? > > > > > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > > > > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > > > > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > > > > > > > > > The Chicken > > > > > > In a roasting pan on the counter > > > It sits, naked > > > Under the bright lights > > > And I watch as she plays > > > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > > > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > > > > > She shoves her hand deep into > > > This chicken's cavity > > > Pulls out a fistfull > > > Of paper-wrapped organs > > > She tosses one to the cat, > > > Who is obligated to eat it > > > > > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > > > Because she can, > > > She turns back to this chicken and > > > I watch as she makes it dance, > > > Holding it by its footless nubs > > > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > > > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > > > > > When she's done, she plops > > > This chicken back in the pan > > > And it's ready for the oven > > > For her, it's just dinner > > > > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 6, 2010 Report Share Posted December 6, 2010 Yes she does! > > > > > > > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > > > > > > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > > > > > > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > The Chicken > > > > > > > > In a roasting pan on the counter > > > > It sits, naked > > > > Under the bright lights > > > > And I watch as she plays > > > > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > > > > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > > > > > > > She shoves her hand deep into > > > > This chicken's cavity > > > > Pulls out a fistfull > > > > Of paper-wrapped organs > > > > She tosses one to the cat, > > > > Who is obligated to eat it > > > > > > > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > > > > Because she can, > > > > She turns back to this chicken and > > > > I watch as she makes it dance, > > > > Holding it by its footless nubs > > > > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > > > > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > > > > > > > When she's done, she plops > > > > This chicken back in the pan > > > > And it's ready for the oven > > > > For her, it's just dinner > > > > > > > > > > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Hello Deanna, People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. +Coal Miner's Daughter Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity That's it. I always wondered why I had to live like a vagabond, an animal, a homeless person around my mom. She re-created her abandonment issues with me by always sending me away and not making home feel like home. I always felt sub-human. Amy Re: Poem: The Chicken Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity That's it. I always wondered why I had to live like a vagabond, an animal, a homeless person around my mom. She re-created her abandonment issues with me by always sending me away and not making home feel like home. I always felt sub-human. Amy Re: Poem: The Chicken Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Ahhh, lacking basic dignity That's it. I always wondered why I had to live like a vagabond, an animal, a homeless person around my mom. She re-created her abandonment issues with me by always sending me away and not making home feel like home. I always felt sub-human. Amy Re: Poem: The Chicken Ahhh, lacking basic dignity. That is a big part of what I was trying to get across with this. And really, it was not written about eating animals, or as some kind of way to be against eating animals...nothing like that at all. It was really just about the experience of watching her humiliate and toy with something defenseless and how sickening that felt. > > Hello Deanna, > > People not " getting " the poem can be considered validation that it's really art. And backs up the fairly low statistics for BPD in our society, by the way. If there are as many actual BPD moms out there as I have theorized, why can't anyone relate/believe/validate our experiences? Perhaps it is a little more rare than I thought? > > Also, to Annie and others who have considered the psychopath aspect of BPD. Doesn't this poem highlight that aspect well? It kind of freaked/creeped me out and reminded me perfectly of how it feels to be around her (nada). Seeing the creature as an object. I appreciate meat and do eat a lot of it, but also with respect for the fact that it was once living - kind of like the Native American attitude of thanking the animal's spirit. A BPD person does not see or respect other living creatures as alive or deserving of comfort and basic dignity. > > +Coal Miner's Daughter > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Your poem resonates with me. The chicken, naked, exposed, vulnerable, powerless. Then, having its innards removed - tossed hither and yon, no say in the matter and at least one recipient not really appreciating the " gift " - then the final humiliation - being made to dance a silly dance when you are dead, cold, clammy, someone's dinner - someone's sustenance. Yup, totally get it. But I don't think anyone with normal parents would get it - it's just a chicken, their mother is just full of whimsy and joy and the cat is being finicky. Poor chicken, how long until it's done? You also asked how it made me feel...sick, sad for myself, a sense of the absurd. > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > The Chicken > > In a roasting pan on the counter > It sits, naked > Under the bright lights > And I watch as she plays > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > She shoves her hand deep into > This chicken's cavity > Pulls out a fistfull > Of paper-wrapped organs > She tosses one to the cat, > Who is obligated to eat it > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > Because she can, > She turns back to this chicken and > I watch as she makes it dance, > Holding it by its footless nubs > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > When she's done, she plops > This chicken back in the pan > And it's ready for the oven > For her, it's just dinner > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Your poem resonates with me. The chicken, naked, exposed, vulnerable, powerless. Then, having its innards removed - tossed hither and yon, no say in the matter and at least one recipient not really appreciating the " gift " - then the final humiliation - being made to dance a silly dance when you are dead, cold, clammy, someone's dinner - someone's sustenance. Yup, totally get it. But I don't think anyone with normal parents would get it - it's just a chicken, their mother is just full of whimsy and joy and the cat is being finicky. Poor chicken, how long until it's done? You also asked how it made me feel...sick, sad for myself, a sense of the absurd. > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > The Chicken > > In a roasting pan on the counter > It sits, naked > Under the bright lights > And I watch as she plays > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > She shoves her hand deep into > This chicken's cavity > Pulls out a fistfull > Of paper-wrapped organs > She tosses one to the cat, > Who is obligated to eat it > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > Because she can, > She turns back to this chicken and > I watch as she makes it dance, > Holding it by its footless nubs > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > When she's done, she plops > This chicken back in the pan > And it's ready for the oven > For her, it's just dinner > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted December 7, 2010 Report Share Posted December 7, 2010 Your poem resonates with me. The chicken, naked, exposed, vulnerable, powerless. Then, having its innards removed - tossed hither and yon, no say in the matter and at least one recipient not really appreciating the " gift " - then the final humiliation - being made to dance a silly dance when you are dead, cold, clammy, someone's dinner - someone's sustenance. Yup, totally get it. But I don't think anyone with normal parents would get it - it's just a chicken, their mother is just full of whimsy and joy and the cat is being finicky. Poor chicken, how long until it's done? You also asked how it made me feel...sick, sad for myself, a sense of the absurd. > > Hey guys, I've been taking a poetry class this fall. We recently presented our last poem, and it seems as if only one person from my class really " got " my last poem. One guy, whom I consider to be pretty astute, said it was the most confusing poem he'd ever read and that he really wanted to understand the point, but it was lost on him. > > So what I'm really dying to know, is, if a group of people with experiences like mine read my poem, would it resonate with them? Also, how does reading it make you feel? > > The poem is about a time that I watched my mother prepare a chicken. > > > > The Chicken > > In a roasting pan on the counter > It sits, naked > Under the bright lights > And I watch as she plays > This chicken, she plays it like the bongos > Sharp smacks of flesh on flesh > > She shoves her hand deep into > This chicken's cavity > Pulls out a fistfull > Of paper-wrapped organs > She tosses one to the cat, > Who is obligated to eat it > > Then, with uncharacteristic glee, and > Because she can, > She turns back to this chicken and > I watch as she makes it dance, > Holding it by its footless nubs > She sings, " doot do do doot doot " > It's a one-chicken Rockette > > When she's done, she plops > This chicken back in the pan > And it's ready for the oven > For her, it's just dinner > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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