Adam Fenner's Blog, page 2

Shifting Priorities – Announcement

Time is our most valuable resource, and as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to treat it that way. Wherever I work and whatever I work on, I try to use my time wisely. My focus has shifted over the years—whether that’s a strength or a flaw, I may never know. Singular focus for decades can produce incredible work, but I’ve always meandered from topic to topic. It keeps my interest alive and gives me breadth, though perhaps at the expense of depth.

For the past year, my focus has been on poetry. Since late October, I’ve been reading and analyzing it—not just to deepen my understanding but also to build relationships within the community. I feel I’ve accomplished that, at least in a modest way. Now, I have two announcements to share.

1. Launching the War Poetry Collection

This passion project has been in the works for quite a while. I’ve noticed that war poetry often goes overlooked. It’s a niche subject, and that’s understandable—soldiers have always occupied a small corner of society, even more so now as war becomes increasingly distant for many. I also believe that literary critics often fail to grasp its nuance in a meaningful way.

The War Poetry Collection, launching today, is my effort to gather and share poetry that focuses on war. While WWI makes up the bulk of the collection, I’ll continue expanding it over time. This will be a living, evolving project—one I’ll tend to as I discover new works, as they are introduced to me, or simply when I need a distraction. It’s my way of giving back.

2. Shifting Focus to Narrative Work

This is where the real work begins. My next major focus will be on my narrative writing. I have a three-book collection that I plan to edit and release. Beyond that, a low-fantasy series has been taking shape in my mind, but bringing it to life will require deep research.

To do it justice, I need to develop a solid understanding of 12th-century European life and politics. Researching this era will take time, but it’s necessary. One of the things I admire most about authors like George R.R. Martin and Andrzej Sapkowski is their ability to weave rich historical details into their worlds. That level of depth comes from rigorous research—and now it’s my turn to put in the work.

What This Means Moving Forward

With these shifts, I’ll be posting less frequently and engaging less in daily interactions. My writing time is limited—an hour or two each day at best—so I need to use it wisely. However, I’ll still be here, sharing from the War Poetry Collection and reading others’ work, just not as regularly as before.

I truly appreciate everyone’s patience and support. Thank you for being part of this journey with me.

Photo by Matthijs van Schuppen on Unsplash

A wee dram – Reviewed

Chris Hall

Ah whisky, shall I have a little dram?
Beautifully mellow – amber, tangerine, and maybe musk
Come with me – it’s a journey
Deep into the highlands

Every step you’ll take
Fading in the mist
Granite unmoved
Hiding in full view

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

A wee dram

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem is about more than just whisky. It is about time, tradition, and the connection between a drink and the land it comes from. The speaker does not just describe the taste of whisky but invites the reader on a journey through the Scottish Highlands and the Isle of Skye. As the whisky is sipped, the evening fades into night, and then, almost without notice, night turns into morning. The passage of time is quiet and seamless, like the way whisky settles in the glass, lingers on the tongue, and fades slowly. The poem does not dwell on the transition—it just happens, much like life itself.

The opening question, “Ah whisky, shall I have a little dram?” is casual but ritualistic. It feels like something familiar, something done before and likely to be done again. The whisky is described not just by flavor but by color and sensation—“amber, tangerine, and maybe musk.” These details make it feel warm and rich, something that extends beyond taste into memory and atmosphere. Then the speaker invites the reader to join them—“Come with me – it’s a journey.” From here, the whisky is no longer just a drink; it becomes a passage into something bigger.

The poem moves into the Highlands, a place that feels both open and mysterious. The mist fades, but the granite remains unmoved. The landscape is steady, unchanged, while everything else shifts around it. The sense of time passing in the poem is subtle, just as the scenery itself is both distant and present. The Highlands are not just a backdrop; they are part of the experience, just as the whisky is part of the land it comes from. The poem does not separate these things—it blends them together, making whisky feel like a product of history and place rather than just something to drink.

The Isle of Skye brings a shift in tone. The speaker encourages openness—“Just be… spread your wings.” This part of the poem is lighter, more expansive. The kites wheeling in the mountains and the reminder to “just breathe” create a sense of calm, a moment of stillness in the midst of movement. It is as if the whisky has carried the speaker into a different mindset, one of reflection rather than action. There is no rush, no need for urgency—just appreciation of the moment.

The final lines bring everything back to whisky. “Six o’clock is here / Talisker awaits.” This could mean early evening, the start of another night, or it could mean morning, a return to tradition, a continuation rather than an end. Talisker, made on the Isle of Skye, is known for its smoky, maritime character, tying the whisky back to the landscape described earlier. This final mention reinforces the idea that whisky is more than a drink—it is a connection to a place, a moment, and a way of life.

The poem does not try to explain or analyze. It simply moves, the way time moves, the way whisky lingers and fades. It captures a quiet experience—one that is not just about drinking but about being present, appreciating the details, and letting things unfold naturally. It does not rush or force meaning. It just exists, like a dram of whisky, waiting to be savored.

Photo by Dylan de Jonge on Unsplash

Mending My Own Light – Reviewed

Brenda Marie

Mending my own light, a quiet task,
A gentle hand beneath the mask.
Where cracks once lay and shadows fell,
I gather pieces I know so well.

The fire flickers, soft and slow,
A spark of truth begins to glow.
Each shard of fear, each tangle of doubt,
I mend with care, I work them out.

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Poem: Mending My Own Light

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Analysis

This poem is about healing and rebuilding, not by erasing pain but by turning it into something meaningful. The speaker describes the process of putting themselves back together, not as a way to return to who they were, but as a way to grow into something even stronger. The imagery of cracks, shadows, and shards of fear suggests past pain, but the speaker does not treat these as things to be erased. Instead, they are gathered, stitched together, and transformed. The idea that struggle is necessary for real change is central to the poem. The line “The storms I’ve weathered, the tears I’ve known, / Are the soil from which my light has grown” compares emotional hardship to the way plants grow from the earth. Storms, which seem destructive, actually nourish the ground, clear away the weak, and create space for stronger roots to take hold. The poem suggests that personal struggles do the same—they lay the foundation for resilience.

The structure of the poem reflects this gradual process of healing. It begins with quiet, careful movements—the speaker gathers the pieces, mends them, and tends to their fire with patience. The rhythm is steady, and the short lines create a sense of deliberate effort. As the poem moves forward, the language shifts. Words like “bold” and “fierce” appear, showing that the speaker is growing in confidence. By the final stanza, the tone is no longer cautious but strong. The repetition of “reborn” emphasizes transformation. The speaker has not just repaired themselves—they have become something new.

One of the most powerful images in the poem is the idea of stitching wounds with gold “I stitch the dark with threads of gold.” This could be compared to Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold lacquer, which highlights the cracks rather than hiding them. The idea behind Kintsugi is that breakage is part of an object’s history, and repairing it in a way that makes it more beautiful adds to its value. The poem takes this idea and applies it to personal healing. The speaker does not try to erase their past pain but instead weaves it into their strength. Their wounds become part of their light, just as the gold-filled cracks in Kintsugi become part of the beauty of the repaired piece.

Fire is another important symbol in the poem. It flickers softly at first, delicate and uncertain, but as the speaker works through their pain, it becomes something steady and unbreakable. Fire can be destructive, but it can also be a force of renewal. In nature, wildfires clear away dead growth, making room for new life. The speaker’s fire does something similar—it transforms rather than destroys. The line “a fire that’s mine, forever alight” suggests that this strength is not temporary. It is something lasting, something fully owned by the speaker.

The tone of the poem is hopeful, but it does not ignore struggle. It acknowledges pain without letting it take over. The speaker does not dwell on what broke them; instead, they focus on the process of mending. The way healing is portrayed is realistic. It is not about pretending the past never happened, and it is not about waiting for someone else to fix things. The speaker takes an active role in their own recovery. The process is slow, requiring patience and care, but in the end, it leads to something even stronger than what was there before.

The poem’s message is clear—healing is not about going back to the way things were. It is about taking what was broken and turning it into something new. The storm that once seemed destructive becomes the soil for new growth. The cracks that once seemed like flaws are stitched with gold. The fire that once flickered uncertainly now burns steady and strong. The speaker does not just recover; they transform. The poem captures the idea that struggle is not just something to endure—it is something that can shape a person into something even brighter.

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

The Rainbow Moon – Reviewed

 Cindy Georgakas

The rainbow moon called me tonight,
shimmering its prisms beckoning me to pay a visit.
I circled round and round until

I got the perfect shot.
It hovered right over the very place we blessed you
as your spirit took its place in the heavens.

I swear it happened like this.
You know me, I see through rose colored glasses,
but I’m not one for lacing or psychedelics.

You may find the rest of the poem here.

THE RAINBOW MOON PUBLISHED ON SPILLWORDS PRESS

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem is about memory, loss, and the way signs can appear in unexpected moments. The speaker sees a “rainbow moon” and feels drawn to it, moving around to take the perfect picture. But the moment is more than just a beautiful sight. The moon appears over the exact place where they said goodbye to someone they lost. This makes the experience feel meaningful, like a sign. As the speaker tries to take a picture, butterflies appear, and they connect them to the person they lost. The butterflies become symbols of the spirit world, moving between life and death, carrying a message that their loved one is safe.

The poem follows the speaker’s thoughts as they take a picture, notice strange details, and feel a presence around them. The moon and the butterflies become symbols of the person who has passed, and the speaker interprets them as proof that their spirit is still near. The poem explores the idea that those who have left us may still find ways to communicate, even in small, fleeting moments. The speaker does not question whether this is real or imagined; they simply describe it as it happened.

The structure reflects how memories and emotions appear in waves. The lines are short, sometimes broken up in ways that feel like pauses in thought, as if the speaker is processing everything in real time. It is written in free verse, without a strict rhyme or rhythm, making it feel natural, like a memory unfolding. The first lines set up the scene—the rainbow moon appears, and the speaker moves around, trying to take the perfect picture.

The butterfly plays an important role in the poem. It is not just an insect in the night sky; it becomes a messenger between two worlds. The speaker calls it a “rainbow butterfly” and an “ethereal being of light,” suggesting that they see it as more than a coincidence. In many cultures, butterflies are symbols of the soul, believed to carry messages from those who have passed. The poem plays with this idea. The butterfly appears at the right time, right when the speaker is trying to capture a moment of remembrance. It is fleeting, impossible to hold onto, just like the person they lost. But even if it does not stay, its presence is enough to bring comfort.

The camera is another key part of the poem. The speaker is trying to take a picture, to hold onto the moment, but the camera does not capture what they see. They say, “While my camera deceived me, your colors fluttered bright.” This suggests that some things cannot be recorded or proven, but that does not mean they are not real. The speaker trusts their own experience over what the camera shows. The camera’s failure becomes part of the poem’s message—some things are only meant to be felt, not documented.

The tone of the poem is both sad and hopeful. The speaker is mourning, but they also feel reassured. They see signs that their loved one is still with them in some way, and instead of doubting, they accept it. The phrase “I swear it happened like this” shows both confidence and a need to affirm the experience. They know how it might sound to others, but they stand by what they saw. The final action—calling the mother—adds another layer of meaning. This moment is not just for the speaker; it is something that needs to be shared.

The poem also plays with the idea of perception. The speaker mentions seeing “through rose-colored glasses,” which suggests that they are aware they see things in an emotional or idealized way. But they also push back against doubt by saying they are “not one for lacing or psychedelics.” They know what they saw, and they believe it. The contrast between what the camera shows and what they feel reinforces this idea—just because something cannot be measured or recorded does not mean it is not real.

Overall, the poem is about a moment that cannot be fully explained or captured. The speaker experiences something powerful, but their camera does not reflect it. Instead of questioning themselves, they believe in what they saw. The poem explores the ways in which memory and emotion shape perception, and how people find comfort in signs from beyond. It does not try to argue whether these moments are real in an objective sense; it simply presents the experience as it was felt. The speaker’s loss is clear, but so is their connection to the person they are missing. The poem is about seeing beyond what a camera can capture and trusting what the heart knows to be true.

Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash

Calculus: The Great Betrayal – Reviewed

 Joseph R. Mason

Oh, Calculus, you gave me pain,
Derivatives fried my poor brain.
Integrals made me want to cry,
Yet here I stand—please tell me why?
You swore you’d help me every day,
In useful, math-y, grown-up ways.
But in the end, amidst my strife,
I’ve never once derived my life!

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Calculus! …a poem

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem is about more than just frustration with calculus. It is about the gap between what is taught in school and what is actually useful in daily life. The speaker describes their struggle with derivatives and integrals, but the frustration is not just about difficulty. It is about effort that led to nothing. They expected calculus to be valuable, something that would come in handy as an adult. Instead, they find that all those complex ideas serve no purpose outside the classroom. The speaker is looking at the education system and questioning why students are required to learn things they will never need.

The humor makes the message stronger. The rhyme scheme gives it a light, almost sing-song quality, even though the frustration is real. The first part sets up the idea that calculus was painful to learn, but instead of just ending there, the poem shifts into something bigger. The speaker expected calculus to be useful, but instead, they have gone through life without ever needing it. Then the poem lists examples of common situations—shopping, cleaning, tipping—all things that require some math but not calculus. These examples exaggerate the point, but that is what makes it clear. If calculus is as important as students are told, why does it never come up in real life? The final stanza directly calls out Newton, joking that unless someone is building a spaceship, calculus does not seem to serve much purpose.

The poem raises a bigger question—what should people actually be learning? The speaker does not suggest that math should be ignored, just that it should be more practical. Instead of calculus, maybe students should spend more time learning how to manage money, budget for groceries, or understand taxes. The examples in the poem make this argument without stating it directly. When the speaker talks about grocery shopping and cleaning, they are pointing out that these are the kinds of skills people use all the time. The poem suggests that education should focus more on what will actually be helpful in everyday life.

The poem plays with the idea of expectation versus reality. The speaker expected calculus to be practical, something that would help them as an adult. Instead, they find that all the formulas and concepts they struggled with have no clear purpose in their daily routine. The disappointment comes from realizing that they spent time and effort on something that, in the end, does not seem to matter. The humor makes the frustration easier to digest, but it also makes the argument stronger. If calculus is only useful in rare, highly technical situations, then why is it taught as an essential skill?

The poem is funny, but it has a serious point. It questions why students are expected to spend time and effort on subjects that do not have clear, practical value. The rhyme scheme and casual language make it entertaining, but the message is something many people can relate to. The poem does not suggest a solution, but it does highlight a frustration that a lot of people feel—that education often focuses on things that are not useful while skipping over things that would actually help in daily life. The speaker might be exaggerating, but the argument is one that resonates, making the poem both humorous and thought-provoking.

Photo by Shubham Sharan on Unsplash

Waiting for It – Reviewed

threadfollower

I overheard a gentle comment
while I waited for the next part
of my life to begin:

“Sometimes it is in the waiting.”

My expectation increased as I hoped
for an explanation of “it.” There was none.

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Waiting for It

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem is about waiting, but not just the act of waiting—the uncertainty that comes with it. The speaker is in between moments, expecting the next part of life to begin, but they do not know what that means. They hear someone say, “Sometimes it is in the waiting,” a comment that suggests there is meaning in this in-between space. But the statement does not explain what “it” is, and that lack of clarity creates tension. The speaker wants to know what they are waiting for. They start guessing—maybe it is a better life, love, or some kind of deeper happiness. But instead of feeling reassured, they begin to worry. If they do not know what “it” is, how will they know if they have found it? And what if they are waiting for it the wrong way?

The poem does not try to answer these questions. It does not define “it” or say whether the speaker’s concerns are valid. That is what makes the poem unsettling. The speaker is left to decide for themselves, and that is the real challenge. The poem highlights a common experience—people wait for change, assume that something new is coming, but rarely know what to expect. They look for meaning outside themselves, hoping for direction, but often have to define it on their own. The poem captures the weight of that responsibility. It starts with quiet observation, shifts into hopeful anticipation, then moves into fear. The longer the speaker sits with their uncertainty, the more anxious they become. If they cannot name what they are waiting for, how can they be sure they are waiting correctly?

The structure of the poem follows the speaker’s thoughts. It begins with an overheard comment, something passive, then shifts into an active search for meaning. The speaker moves through possibilities, listing ideas, trying to pin down what they are waiting for. But instead of landing on an answer, the thinking spirals. The final question changes the focus from the unknown future to the speaker’s own actions—what if they are not waiting the right way? The poem does not offer reassurance. It just stops, leaving the speaker in doubt.

The tone follows this same shift. It starts out neutral, almost reflective, but as the poem progresses, the uncertainty builds. The phrase “My expectation increased” suggests excitement, as if something is about to be revealed. But that feeling is quickly replaced by doubt. The lack of explanation changes the mood. The more the speaker thinks about “it,” the less certain they feel. The final shift to fear happens quickly, but it is not dramatic. The poem does not use emotional language or exaggerated imagery. The simplicity makes the shift feel natural, like someone realizing mid-thought that they might have made a mistake. The waiting is no longer just a pause before something new. It becomes stressful.

The simplicity of the poem makes it feel personal. There are no complicated metaphors or decorative language. The thoughts unfold naturally, as if the speaker is thinking through them in real time. This makes the transition from hope to fear feel more immediate. The poem does not try to resolve the speaker’s doubt, and that lack of resolution is what makes it effective. It leaves the speaker, and the reader, stuck in that same uncertainty. It suggests that the act of waiting is not just about patience but about defining what is worth waiting for in the first place.

Photo by Meritt Thomas on Unsplash

No 不 – Reviewed

Awl and Scribe

In a society with no
Boundaries, saying no

在一個不分界線的
社會，說不似乎

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

No 不

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Analysis

This poem is short, but it sets up a big idea. It talks about boundaries and how saying “no” is not just a choice but something necessary. In a world where limits do not exist, refusal becomes the only way to create them. The poem treats “no” as something practical, not emotional. It is not about personal feelings but about weighing benefits, making calculations. Decision-making becomes almost mechanical—if the total gain is greater than personal goals, then saying “yes” makes sense. If not, then “no” is the logical response.

The structure is simple. Each line moves directly into the next, forming a continuous thought. The lack of punctuation at the end of the lines makes it flow without pause, reinforcing the idea that this is not about personal reflection but about stating a principle. The way it is written makes it feel more like a rule than an observation. There is no questioning or hesitation—just a direct statement of how things work in this kind of society. This also makes the poem feel impersonal. The speaker does not position themselves within the idea. They do not argue for or against it. They simply describe it, which makes it feel more like a fact than an opinion.

The tone is neutral, almost detached. There is no frustration, no emotion, no argument. It does not say whether this way of thinking is good or bad. It just presents it. That detachment makes the poem unsettling. It presents society as something without real boundaries, where people have to constantly negotiate their own limits. Saying “no” is not about preference but necessity. There is no talk of personal freedom or morality—only calculations of benefits and goals. This approach makes the world of the poem feel rigid. It suggests that people are not making decisions based on what they want but based on what is required to function in a society that does not offer clear limits.

The last lines introduce an exception: “unless the total benefits of acceding outweighs personal goals.” This makes the whole poem conditional. It is not saying that refusal is always necessary—only when saying “yes” does not bring enough gain. This turns decisions into transactions. It is not about what a person wants but about what makes the most sense in a system where limits do not exist. The idea of benefits being weighed against goals makes it clear that choices are not about individual desires. They are about what is most efficient. This suggests that in a world without boundaries, people are forced to constantly measure their responses, making sure they do not lose themselves to external demands.

The poem does not take a strong stance, but it raises a question: if refusal is a requirement, then is agreement ever really a choice? It suggests that personal goals are always weighed against external expectations, that decisions are not about what someone wants but what makes the most sense based on outside factors. It makes saying “no” feel less like a boundary and more like an obligation, something forced rather than chosen. The simplicity of the language and structure reinforces that idea—there is no emotion, no argument, just a statement of how things work. The poem is short, but it leaves an uneasy feeling, as if personal choice is just an illusion.

Photo by Linus Nylund on Unsplash

UNIVERSAL TRUTH – Reviewed

Jay Simpson

Probable cause defeats purpose
the empty cache augments

strike the keyboard release some tension
fumble around perfunctory practice

type the unfortunate turn of events
scramble the code traverse the gradient

update the debatable save unstable changes
decrypt the classified sharpen the tool

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

UNIVERSAL TRUTH

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem moves through different ways of communication, shifting between written words, spoken language, natural signs, and supernatural messages. There is no clear narrative, but there is movement—thoughts being typed, voices being lost, nature signaling change, ghosts leaving messages. Communication is not stable. It is distorted, interrupted, and erased. Meaning is unclear, but that seems intentional. Instead of giving direct answers, the poem shows the struggle of making sense of fragmented information.

It starts with contradictions. “Probable cause defeats purpose / the empty cache augments.” These lines suggest a breakdown in logical thinking. An “empty cache” brings up the idea of stored but erased information, like a computer remembering what has been deleted. This ties into written communication—words are typed, saved, changed, and lost. The poem treats writing like a process of trial and error, where words are not fixed but constantly shifting. This reflects how language works—people speak, revise, rephrase. Meaning is never final.

But writing is only one way of communication. “Babel’s voice scattered sound” references the biblical Tower of Babel, where language fractured, making understanding impossible. Scattered voices suggest speech that is lost, confused, or broken apart. “Crash heartbeat’s unreliable rhythm” ties spoken language to the body’s rhythm, but here, even that is unsteady. The poem suggests that spoken words, like written ones, do not always hold steady. They can be misunderstood, interrupted, distorted.

Then, there is nature. “Swollen rivers invite destiny / somnambulance ice and snow.” These lines move away from human-made language to natural signs. Rivers rise, ice forms, snow falls—these are all signals of change. Unlike writing or speech, natural communication happens on its own, without human control. A swollen river means a flood is coming. Snow signals stillness. The poem does not explain these images, but they act as another kind of language, one that exists without words.

The poem also brings in the supernatural. “Holy ghosts’ inevitable crime.” Ghosts exist between presence and absence, like forgotten words. Their “crime” might be that they cannot be ignored, or that they linger without speaking clearly. Supernatural communication is often indirect—signs, strange sensations, an unexplained feeling. The poem treats this as just another way meaning is created, alongside typing on a keyboard, voices breaking apart, and nature giving quiet warnings.

The last lines bring everything together. “Trample banal delete explanation.” The poem refuses to be simplified. “Deplete the poem the unsolvable problem.” If communication is unstable, poetry is even more so. “Nature’s metamorphosis universal truth.” Truth, like nature, is always changing. Like spoken words, it is lost and misheard. Like writing, it is revised. Like ghostly messages, it is uncertain.

The poem captures the instability of language. It mixes digital, spoken, natural, and supernatural communication, showing how all of them can fail or shift. The short lines, the lack of punctuation, and the clipped phrases create urgency and fragmentation, mirroring the way meaning is built and broken. Instead of offering answers, the poem shows the process of trying to understand, of wrestling with words that refuse to be pinned down. It embraces poetry’s complexity—the way meaning is layered, fractured, and always in motion.

Photo by Echo on Unsplash

Mucking Through the Mind – Reviewed

Debbie Gravett

Soup of supper, of my life,
stew of well chewed bones
of the gripes of past.
I do the palaeontology on this big pot,
turn the fossils of my worries
this way and that, examining the marrow,

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Mucking Through the Mind

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem mixes science and folklore to explore the messy process of thinking, reflecting, and sorting through life’s struggles. The speaker’s mind is not just a place of passing thoughts but something physical—something that can be dug through, studied, and transformed. The poem moves between scientific imagery, like paleontology and excavation, and more magical elements, like fairy dust and a bubbling cauldron. The speaker is both a scientist and a storyteller, breaking down their worries like fossils while also wishing for an easier way to clear them away.

It starts with a familiar image: soup, something warm and routine. But this soup is not comforting—it is full of “well-chewed bones,” leftovers from past struggles. Right away, the poem suggests that the speaker is dealing with old thoughts, things that have been broken down and revisited many times. Then, the focus shifts to fossils. The speaker treats their memories like ancient remains, carefully turning them over, searching for meaning. The comparison to paleontology suggests patience and effort. Fossils do not just appear—they have to be uncovered, brushed off, studied. The speaker is doing the same with their thoughts, trying to understand them.

But this is not a clean process. The speaker describes hanging a skeleton, “dripping sweat and tears,” making the work feel exhausting and personal. The mind is not a quiet space—it is a place of labor, where ideas have to be pulled apart and pieced together. Thinking is not just passive—it takes real effort, like an archaeologist reconstructing bones. And sometimes, the mind is uncooperative.

The imagery shifts again to soil and weeds. The speaker describes their mind as fertile ground, but not in a good way. Instead of healthy growth, there is “grey, lumpy sludge” and weeds taking over. Weeds are not just plants; they represent invasive thoughts—doubts and insecurities that spread uncontrollably. The speaker wishes for an easy fix, a way to “sprinkle fairy dust” and magically remove them. This is the first direct mention of magic, which contrasts with the earlier scientific approach. The speaker has been methodically examining their thoughts like a scientist, but now, they express frustration. The process is slow and difficult, and they long for something quicker, something effortless.

But there is no magic fix. Instead, the speaker returns to excavation, digging through illusions, separating truth from falsehood. This ties back to the earlier image of fossils—old struggles are buried, but they contain something important. Clarity does not come instantly. It takes work to uncover what is real, to sort through what is worth keeping and what is not. The act of sifting through thoughts is exhausting, but it is also necessary.

The poem ends with a shift in tone. After all the effort, something valuable is left. The speaker talks about “popping pearls of hope and beautiful possibility.” The dark, messy images of bones, sludge, and weeds are replaced with something small and bright—pearls, formed over time and pressure. The process of self-reflection may be difficult, but it leads to something worthwhile. The mind is still bubbling with thoughts, still active, but now there is something meaningful to hold onto.

The balance of science and folklore makes the poem feel grounded but also imaginative. The speaker does not just experience emotions—they analyze them, work through them, struggle with them. But at the same time, they acknowledge the frustration, the desire for an easier way. The mind is not a distant, untouchable place—it is like soil, like bones, like something that can be shaped and sorted. Even in the middle of old worries and tangled thoughts, there is something valuable waiting to be found.

Photo by Trnava University on Unsplash

Thank you universe – Reviewed

JAM

A well groomed man with a beard like a warrior,
looking like a sophisticated pirate,
with his chef jacket on,
saw me walking on the street one day,
I saw him too but walked away,
because with my heart I do not play,
and have never been one to simply give my love away,
day after day the same thing happened,
until the day we spoke,

…

You may find the rest of the poem here.

Thank you universe: Original poem

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes 

Analysis

This poem is about love, but not the kind that comes easy. It is about strength, endurance, and the way two people can grow into something unshakable together. The speaker does not fall in love right away. They see the man, notice his presence, but walk away. They are not someone who gives their heart without reason. But fate keeps bringing them together, again and again, until one day they speak. The moment is simple but important. The speaker does not ask for love or kindness or romance. They ask for “A champion.” They do not want someone who is only affectionate when times are good. They want someone who can stand beside them in the battles of life.

The warrior imagery is present from the very first lines. The man has a beard “like a warrior.” He looks like a “sophisticated pirate.” He is strong, but there is something refined about him. The beard is not just a physical trait—it is a sign of masculinity, resilience, and experience. Throughout history, warriors, leaders, and fighters have worn beards as a mark of their strength. It connects him to something primal, something ancient. But he is not just a warrior in appearance. He has to prove it. The speaker sets tests, not intentionally, but through the challenges that naturally come with love. He does not just claim to be a champion—he becomes one.

The poem moves through time in stages. It starts in the past, describing how they met, then shifts through years of change and growth. The man withstands the speaker’s “flames,” calms their “storms,” protects them from harm. These are not just poetic phrases—they show that love in this poem is about survival and resilience. It is not soft or fleeting. It is something built to last. The man does not just have to fight external battles. He has his own demons to face. He has to become stronger, to grow into the role of a champion. By the time the poem reaches the present, he has done exactly that. His beard now has grey in it, a sign of time passing, of battles fought. But instead of making him weaker, it only reinforces his strength. He has not lost his warrior status—he has earned it.

The relationship is not built on fairy tale romance. There is no grand love-at-first-sight moment. Instead, it is built over time, tested again and again, until it is clear that this is not just about passion—it is about standing together, “side by side, back to back.” Love here is a kind of armor, something that protects them both from the world. The phrase “after 33 times” suggests that fate kept bringing them together, but they had to be ready first. They had to become the right people for each other. Love was not just something that happened to them. It was something they had to earn.

The poem does not follow a strict structure. The lines are uneven, some short, some long, making it feel natural, almost like a spoken story. It moves between past and present without feeling forced. The language is simple, direct, honest. There are no elaborate metaphors, no unnecessary decoration. The emotion comes through because it is real. The final lines tie everything together. The speaker acknowledges that they got more than they asked for. They wanted a champion, and they found one. The last line, thanking the universe, suggests that their journey is still ongoing. They have been through hell and back, but they are still standing, still fighting, still together. Love, in this poem, is not a feeling—it is a battle they fight together.

Photo by Srdjan Popovic on Unsplash