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Pine Scars by Enoch Thompson

by Patricia | 12.19.12

800px-Pinus_rigida_cone2

A pine cone
Bit through the seat of my jeans,
And on that day
I vowed never to climb pine trees.

Never again would I feel
The sap underneath
The triumph of
A climb’s ending.

There would be just the memory…
…that, and the falling…

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Enoch Thompson is an aspiring poet and storyteller. He was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan. He has been homeless off and on since he turned 18. He taught himself how to read, which is why he has a passion for reading and writing. He believes that becoming the best writer he can be is how he can become the best person he can be. He says that the written word has affected him by opening his mind to various new perspectives and possibilities. He hopes one day that his writing will be mind-blowing. Currently, he is a student at Utah State University-Eastern in southeastern Utah.

6 Responses to Pine Scars by Enoch Thompson

  1. Patricia

    This looks like falling from trees, falling out of the heady high place of love (pining), perhaps even falling from grace, all rolled into one. One simple, clean package. Decorated with pine cones.

    Never again would I feel
    The sap underneath
    The triumph of
    A climb’s ending.

    This is intriguing language that mind enjoys returning to again and again.

    As I read your poem tonight, William Blake comes to mind. Have you read any or much Blake, Enoch?

    And … yeah. I fell out of a tree once. It’s a memorable experience. Too bad I didn’t fall on an apple. Then I’d have a great variation of the folksy Sir Isaac Newton tale to tell. My life might have turned out differently …

  2. Jonathon

    All kinds of possibilities here, Enoch. I look forward to the next piece. I’m glad you’re not shy about irony–what I perceive, at any rate, to be irony–in the final line. Something Ambrose Bierce-y about it: the initial event, though the cause, merely, is the thing that will be remembered. The fall–no doubt more painful–is an afterthought. Nice work.

  3. Cara O'Sullivan

    I too appreciated the irony in your poem–but I also sensed a sadness–childhood’s end perhaps, no more climbing in trees? Perhaps you didn’t intend that, but a good poem is like a diamond that depending on the lighting and the viewer, will refract differently every time. I look forward to seeing more of your poetry!

  4. Sarah Dunster

    I remember when I loved climbing trees, didn’t mind the sap & scraped knees :)

    Doesn’t fit with your poem, just a (kind of silly) answering couplet.

    Love this.

  5. Enoch Thompson

    Patricia. Your reflection is a gem. Your comment decorates my poem better than any of the pining words that I plucked for my work; I’m blushing. As for William Blake, I fear I’m not as well read as I would like, and I appreciate you throwing his scraps my way. I’m starving, and I believe I have you and your teaching to thank for that. Thank you so much. Also, if you had shared that relation with Sir Issac Newton, it might have entirely changed the way I read one of my favorite poems from you. :)

    Jonathon. Your input on my potential is cherished. What’s more than that, you’ve taught me two things, one of them being quite unexpected.

    I feel extremely green in the world of language; by reading my budding work it’s probably not hard to tell. With the exception of Patricia and a few other teachers, not many have seen my work; if it’s any gauge, these replies feel like I’m writing a Newbery acceptance speech. My use of irony was just as conscious as any plant feels of it’s photosynthesis. To me, growth takes root in awareness. Your comment has awakened me to a broader perspective of irony to use as a monocle in my writing.

    The unexpected bit of learning I speak of, comes from how tactful you handled directing me. As aforementioned, I feel my inexperience keenly. These are my first interactions in a writing community and I hope I can contribute my opinions just as articulate, effective, and delicate. I mean, I’m trying, but I referred to William Blake’s work as scrap and I’m not sure how tactful that was. hahah

    Ambrose Bierce is also new to me and I appreciate the reference. :)

    Cara. Thank you so much. I believe I did intend a bit of sadness. Within two ideas; losing the last of my childhood and the loss of a relationship with that, I felt a hole of sadness. However, that’s all inconsequential. Your comment of a diamond, like Patrica’s gem, is a diamond, and I thank you for it. :)

    Sarah! Your “silly” answer feels like a healing gesture. :) It means a lot to me. And, I’m so glade you loved it! :D :) :D

    Now, I guess this is for anyone, but I’ve never been on any site like this before, and I’m wondering if it might have been wiser to separate my responses each time, so as not to get confused. I hope the way I did this is alright for now. If I can, I would like my contributions to read whatever way is clearest. If anyone wants to point me in a good direction, it would be much appreciated. :]

  6. Patricia

    Blushing, Enoch? Ha, doubtful. But I hope you laughed.

    Blake can be mind-blowing, in his concentrated, understated way. Try Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience. Click here to link to the full text provided by the Gutenberg Project.

    Blake was visionary and reported seeing angels in trees and here and there catching glimpses of other supernatural critters. You might look at his artwork, too.

    Hey, I’ll miss you this semester.

    As for your starving condition: You’re totally welcome. Feed the fire, I say. The brain will know what to do with everything, tinder to logs.

    I’ll be in touch soon.

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