O, What Shall I Name You?

Drifting on an ocean
On waves of emotion
I met a man upon the strand
Where the water meets the sand
He left the shore to be with me
Gave up his life in the deadly sea
Of love
Of love
In the deadly sea of love

To my shame, I didn’t ask
He gave no name, just did his task
Now I carry his unborn child
It will grow up fatherless, wild
In the empty sea
Of love
Of love
In the empty sea of love

O, what shall I name you, my unborn child
When from my womb you’re spilt?

O, what shall I name you, my unborn child?
I think I shall name you Guilt.


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12 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. this. is. simply. beautiful.

  2. This has a nice flow to it without bearing too much of the burden of shame. I also like how you decided the child’s name to be guilt. Very nice!

  3. Loved the meter, form, and flow of your poem. I feel rocked as by the sea’s waves (or rocking chair).This tale is a wonderful creative take on the prompt!

  4. Oh, I also like the description of your blog, under your title!

  5. Stunningly beautiful.

    • Thank you all so much for the comments!
      Gel —> It’s true, sometimes I’m able to keep up with my mind when it wanders… but more often than not, it outpaces me and I’m left wondering where the heck it went. lol

  6. i am awed

    Shame on me

  7. Wonderful!!

  8. i’m playing catchup and savouring every brilliant word – this is very clever indeed – i wonder how long it takes you to write such a piece – does it come easy or are you angsty?

    • That really depends on the piece in question… some flow forth fully formed as if whispered directly into my mind by some higher being, a muse or an angel or a mischievous sprite… such poems practically write themselves, and I feel I hardly have a right to call them my own, even if they are directly or indirectly about my own personal experiences.
      Others are a chore… an uphill battle… a struggle to find the perfect words and phrases. They go through so many drafts and rewrites that the finished product barely resembles the original, if it does at all, and even then I usually feel dissatisfied, as though it still weren’t quite finished. I often go back months later and fiddle with these pieces again, often to my dismay at the butchering they suffer. lol
      But I’m learning, slowly, to leave well enough alone… and also learning to be patient and wait for those moments of inspiration. When they arrive, it is good to be receptive, and simply let the words flow. Thinking about them can come later, once it’s all been captured.

      • i think you’ve just explained most poetically the same process i go through – and likely every writer – some i feel there is a hand guiding mine and others i know what i want to say, but i can’t find the words – i tweak and revise all the time, sometimes that’s all i’ll do for weeks on end and not create something new – that’s my period of procrastination :)

  9. I prefer to think of it as professional crastination. lol

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