Written for: Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads – “Somewhere in the midst of Stirring April” – (posted by Sanaa)
The Mind Is Its Own Beautiful Prisoner
the mind is its own beautiful prisoner.
Mine looked long at the sticky moon
opening in dusk her new wings
then decently hanged himself, one afternoon.
The last thing he saw was you
naked amid unnaked things,
your flesh, a succinct wand-like animal,
a little strolling with the futile purr
of blood; your sex squeaked like a billiard-cue
chalking itself, as not to make an error,
with twists spontaneously methodical.
He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses
he laughed, and closed his eyes as a girl closes
her left hand upon a mirror.
by ee cummings
“Cummings exhibited an ongoing interest in both love and the erotic as a subject in both his writing and his painting. As a painter, he dedicated a separate series of paintings each to nudes, burlesques, and to lovers.
As a poet, he was a sensitive and supple writer who ferreted out distinguishing nuances in relation to love and its complements unlove and lust. The poem speaks of a man who has lost his lover and covers various themes such as loss, betrayal, paradoxical dichotomy and mental self-imprisonment.
Our frame of reference is the title of Cummings’s poem. Choose your own form or write in free verse, if preferred. I look forward to reading what you guys come up with.”
Your mind is self-imprisoned,
new thoughts are turned away
by you. Afraid to run out
of space? If that is the case,
I can assure you that you are
not using half of it now. Open
your mind like petals of peonies.
Maybe you will discover your
core, and know there are more
haven’t-dones than dones.
Experiment. Remove the bars.
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