On The Nature Of (W0)Man

“Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away/ You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.” ~Robert Frost

This poem is for my sister, Michelle, who is in need of many prayers right now.

I guess I have a deep personal interest in metaphorical walls; they’ve come up in all my poems this week. Sartre wrote a story called “The Wall.” I haven’t read it yet, maybe it will shine some light on the subject. (FYI -It didn’t.)

How do you feel about esoteric poetry? Do you think  you get something from a poem, even if it expresses a completely personal theme to the poet? When does a poem become too esoteric?

Are you familiar with Hippocrates’ Humours/Temperments?

Thanks for visiting! Comments are always welcome.


On The Nature Of (Wo)man
by Anni Johnson

Lost in the middle,
you built your wall,
you feisty feminine warrior.

The bee that stung you
transformed your face
for battle: an epic
middle man journey

that would land you
on your back, monitors beeping.

An imbalance of humours
causes the body pain. Yellow bile
leads your injury: bitter taste,
followed by excessive thirst.

We had joy, we had fun,
we had seasons in the sun… 
but the fabric of life allowed
the devil’s pocket to open.

The past and the here and now
are never very far from each other.
A tasty organ of life
dilled in a fine brine
will eat you alive.

You guard your secret heart
that sits to the side
and bleeds.

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