There is:
the anger of the soup tureen
that looked red-full and sweet
till, one little slip,
and its contents spread across
the floor, a promise unkept
the anger of betrayal
on finding that A was B
and B was A
the anger of delight,
all vengeanced out,
looking sweet and neat
stretched out on some
chaise longue of the soul
the anger of hurt
made clean, seeming clean
the anger of decay
as smile lines fill ever deep
with rivers of slight tears
the anger of self-justification,
when the angry
knows the other's wrong
by the power of their ire,
their 'ire-iness',
and need not conscience-out,
not even cross-examine
of themselves
and, last, the -
no wrenched-out words
no tremulous skin -
anger that cannot speak its name,
holds itself in,
to poison out
the hope of 'sin'.
Comments
Nathan Bednarek | January 9, 2009 - 20:57
This is a very interesting poem. I wonder what inspired you to write this- anger? ;-p
Hopefully not, because this poem is full of it. I especially liked the third type of anger. I know it all too well. I have this teacher who is pure evil in a rather dignified way. Seriously though, that woman needs an exorcist ;-D
This was a very enjoyable read with some incredibly accurate observations. Well done.
Nathan.
animan | January 12, 2009 - 16:21
No, Nathan, as you ask, I wasn't really angry about anything at all, I don't think. There just seemed to be quite a lot of anger about in my world and I thought I'd study it, anatomise it in some way, the better to cope with it perhaps - dunno.
Sorry to hear about your teacher - if it's any comfort, I had this Latin teacher who only ever really said to me 'shtewpid boy'! I was always so terrified that Latin has always remained a complete mystery to me.
Hehe, I've just notided that the google ads to my right say 'Get over depression' and 'therapy and counselling'!!