Pax Leucotomy

Poetry 1 Minute

I think that I will go mad,
This, my conclusion,
So that I can stop thinking.
And the kind doctor,
Will relieve from me pressure,
The weight of living,
(And worse, remembering life)
By simply saying:
“Poor thing, take your medicine,”
And though I’ll complain,
What relief shall flow through me,
To know that my faults,
Are not really mine to bear.
So I shall smile then,
Just before the hammer’s fall,
Cleansed thoroughly of all guilt.

Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Soliloquy” as part of their Meeting the Bar Series.
I attempted to write this soliloquy in the usual waka style that I am comfortable in, threading the repeating syllable-count with the gentle hammering motion of the orbitoclast.

Published

43 thoughts on “Pax Leucotomy”

  1. Oh god, Masa, and you’re green with envy at my writing?? I wish I could write like you. This is absolutely amazing and it blows me away. I resonate with the first few lines the most, very Anne Sexton in the vibes there. I look at this as death relieves us from guilt, along with the burden of life. It seems substantiated by the final few lines.

    Such powerful stuff. I feel like I repeat myself, but I do mean it when I say your writing is stunning. It’s one hell of a ride and I love poetry that’s just evocative to me–that I can feel it and it can play in my mind with memories. That I can see myself in bits and pieces through another’s words.

    Beautifully written and poignant. ❤

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    1. Don’t write like me, Lucy, for I much prefer that you write like you.

      I thank you sincerely for your kindness. I have a mild obsession with concepts of guilt, sin, forgiveness, the unfathomable distance between them, and the idea of an inhuman oblivion. Tie into that my general pleasure to recall tragedy as a way to inspire writing and yes… yes, I suppose my usual work is at the very least evocative. Sad things. But I am happy to write them.

      Again, thank you.

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    1. I think there’s a gracefulness to aging and remaining strong. I sometimes wonder if my own age will one day rise up and obliterate me completely, or at the very least the culmination of a lifetime of questionable decisions. I stare at a cane beside my desk and I am certainly filled with fatigue.

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  3. “What relief shall flow through me,
    To know that my faults,
    Are not really mine to bear”

    I can hear his words Peace Be With You in those lines

    Happy Thursday

    Much❤love

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    1. That’s certainly a kind thought, and a much-appreciated interpretation. Happy Thursday, with idle adoration and a restless love.

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  4. Like the glaciers, I am melting. When I become a puddle, a sparrow will gulp down my whole life. Thank you for the very kind comment at my blog. I do plan on performing that poem at the next OLN-Live Event.

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  5. Masa, this gob-smacked me–a poem that evoked emotions that cannot be ignored. As a former hospice nurse and 70-something woman, I feel the weight of those facing end-of-life issues. I believe life is sacred in all its stages though it’s not easy. I really like the form you used, effective for this prompt, I think.

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    1. Thank you so much for the kind comments, Victoria. I am truly thankful that my words have the power to evoke an emotional response. I hope these idle recollections entertain you, or at least continue to provoke thought.

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  6. This was so exquisitely written and it gently took us on a journey of aging and these new rituals that we are now required to perform to stay in good health.

    ‘To know that my faults,
    Are not really mine to bear.
    So I shall smile then,
    Just before the hammer’s fall,
    Cleansed thoroughly of all guilt.’

    Masa your soliloquy erased any guilt I have been carrying lately, so thank you!! ☺️

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    1. Thank you for the compliments, I shall accept them with my usual dryness.

      I am pleasantly bemused by the general response to this piece and somehow comforted by the common interpretations – all the more so if you feel refreshed after reading.

      Simply put, thank you for stopping by.

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  7. I sometimes think this will happen to me – I have PMDD, so I flirt with madness for a few days every month. And I think, ‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to check myself into hospital and get pumped with pills, and give up the fight?’ But that’s not me – not yet, anyway.

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    1. I sympathize deeply. I’m resigned to accepting that I’m sane, but there are moments when I stand at the precipice and wonder if it would just be simpler to be said I’m too broken to function and need to be hidden away. I by no means intend to romanticize mental illness, but at the same time, I can’t help but be jealous of those who can point to a bottle of pills and say, “Those make things a little better,” while I sit here wondering why I can’t have such lovely things.

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    1. You’re too kind, dear reader. No need to admire any stray recollection, I’m just happy that they invoked some reaction from you all.

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  10. Maybe I’m mis-reading in that it did not make me grin. This seems so dark and sad–to want that release (or release from conscious thought). But it’s very powerful, and I’ve read it over several times.

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    1. Oh it’s dark as shit. I just won’t question someone taking pleasure from it.
      Release from conscious thought is definitely my original intention on this piece. I’m thankful for your words. Sad and dark is my usual process, but it’s a cheat to evoke common emotions – I need to work a little harder to make those emotional reactions a touch more authentic.

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  11. Masa,

    A familiar rumination for us older folk. That haunting phrase, “so I can stop thinking,” gets to the heart of what troubles us, sends us yearning for oblivion given by “that kind doctor” who will administer our absolution: all this wrapped in the smooth flow of your words, mirroring resignation yet anticipating relief. Brilliant.

    pax,
    dora

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    1. I didn’t initially intend this to reach out to a group of certain age, so I suppose I’m thankful for the universal truths this can speak to. You’ve touched upon the lines that I like as well – there’s a siren song to oblivion, one that I would likely heed if not for being tied to the boat.

      As before, thank you for your kind words.

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  15. “I think that I will go mad,
    This, my conclusion,
    So that I can stop thinking.” – wonderful opening, Masa.

    “The weight of living,
    (And worse, remembering life)” – and as you get older, isn’t that all it becomes, a bunch of memories? It’s bittersweet and yes, it can feel heavy. Great poem ❤

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    1. Thank you so much for the kind words. I’m not the sort to choose words carefully, so it is a comfort that my instinct prevails.

      And yes, forming memories, recalling one’s actions, all of that can become too much. I believe that is why sleep is such a comfort.

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  16. I believe that any introspective person when being tormented by maddening rumination dreams of the sweet oblivion of a lobotomy from time to time. That would be throwing the baby out with the bath water though. Imagine shuffling through a forest afterwards and feeling nothing…

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    1. Hahaha, indeed I can imagine. Sometimes, though, that sounds truly wonderful. Of course, I don’t think I’m nearly as bad as any of my narrators.

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  18. To consider pills to obliviate that pain is really strong… I know it’s common, and some people who cannot even get a prescription will find other ways to self-medicate… please don’t there is so much good really even though it sometimes seems like everything is black.

    Just some Stones for you after Charlie Watts left this earth.

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    1. I think that’s part of the allure of “medicated oblivion” – it’s well within reach for many people. Thank you for your kind words, but please do not worry too much about me, the poet. My narrators are broken shells seeking the sweet relief of ego death, but I’m just a contemptuous poet seeking to wring emotions out of my readers like a sad vampire.

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    1. Again, I have no intention of making light mental illness, but the narrator appears to seeks absolution and it would appear to them that the loss of their agency would be one form of that. Or so is my current interpretation based on other comments.

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