Part P: Psychosomatic Axis

Friends, I'm all out of alliteration motivation today. Please forgive me. I'm not wonder woman, and I have a very busy work week. I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to many of your blogs to read and comment either this week - so I apologize for that. You know I'd love to!

So I've decided to post a poem called Psychosomatic Axis, (there you go, that was three Ps), which I had submitted to a literary magazine for publication (another one), and have just this morning been rejected - ah never mind. For those of you who may suffer from alliteration withdrawal, here's something to keep you going until tomorrow:

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers;
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked;
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers
Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

PSYCHOSOMATIC AXIS

Somewhere in this orb
The psychosomatic gravity has slipped
Off
Its Axis
This flaw
This long alleged defect
In our planet’s subsistence
Means billions of minds question choices made
In life
And the self-respect of earthlings
Has plummeted
To an unprecedented Low. Lower. Lowest.

So we introduced new street bins
Recycling bins
Emotional recoup
Instead of Glass. Plastic. Paper.
We have childhood … adulthood … maturity …

Disposal of one’s beloved childhood toy
In the childhood bin
Is immediately – rejuvenated … revitalized … re-energized …
Back into their psychological disposition
In what is now considered a socially acceptable form
From this moment forward
Squander no more
‘Waste’ removed from dictionary
No more misplaced righteousness
No more rolling dice

The adulthood bin is brimming
With belongings people bought
When they thought …
They had grown up …
It harks back unbefitting memories
Which are morphed …
Into a flesh that is apposite
To one’s cerebral shape
Mechanically like a candy machine
Put possession in the slot
Instead of a coin
And … ding dong the witch is dead
Resulting in the individual circumventing the chagrin
Of owning such an incompatible item
Which then alleviates the regret
The misplacing of youth

Empty
Alas
Is the maturity bin
Such ignominy
Possessions planted into it
Aren’t recycled
They’re swallowed
Like in a Big. Black. Hole.
It unleashes the past
No more misgivings
No more ‘What ifs’
And all its contents facilitate
Repairing the psychosomatic axis itself
Rather than each individual’s
Egocentric.
Psychological.
Condition.

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