Deity – What the Heck am I Rambling About? #8

Today we breakdown ‘Deity’, the 8th poem of the Autumn, That Bastard poetry collection. ‘Deity’ ponders not ‘who made the universe’ but rather, ‘who made me’. This is poem is in the Autumn that is the construction of my beliefs, values and my spiritual identity.

You can find Deity here before moving on!

Before I delve further into what I am rambling about, I have recently signed up for a fundraiser where I will will be writing 6 poems over a writing filled weekend to help get young people who are disadvantaged get into creative writing workshops! Donations of $15 will get you a PDF version of the 6 poems as a thank you!

https://give.everydayhero.com/au/christoast

But Onto Deity!

In my Author’s Comments section, I talk about how these religions have moulded and constructed my values. However, in here, to continue with the theme of different interpretations of the same poem (as mentioned in ‘There, We’re Whispers’), I am actually using the deities named as representations of events and figures in my life.

“Home was only around when he showed his radiant face.”

The allusion I reference, to the compliment of the face and the reference to Cronulla is my boyfriend. Where all the trains meet is allusion to Central/City stations where me and my boyfriend have tended to meet up at. I liken it to God (shout out to Ariana Grande who does something similar with ‘God is a woman’) as God has been a consistent influence in my life.

“I found Buddha once in the closet of my mind.”

This is a reference to developing calmness to override instinct in my daily interaction. I have become more inclined and reflective in daily interactions since, and many of the typical values expected of Buddhism I have grown to appreciate.

“My teeth were hot and I was sick of faded rainbows.”

The comment about Vishnu and Hinduism, is a comment on polytheism which is an allusion to me emerging on the gay scene and experiencing the community. The faded rainbows imagery metaphorically represents the transition of acceptance from straight to queer.

“In a field scorn of ignorance; that White powdered most.”

In honesty, I have never considered adopting any other spiritual belief apart from my current view point, which is kind of agnostic. I have critiqued how western society (‘White’) has been so exclusionary towards Islam. The broken encore is a reference to how I will try to remain an ally for religious freedom, but how western society has probably heard my arguments before and engaged in this debate numerous times.

Are there any lines that piqued your interest? Let me know on my social media or in the comments below!

Other poems of the collection:

The Penelope Complex
There, We’re Whispers
Leviticus

There, We’re Whispers – What the Heck am I Rambling about? #7

There, We’re Whispers‘ is the first poem I wrote in the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ poetry collection. Originally titled “There Were Whispers” I revamped and remodelled it to focus on place rather than time. With that said, this type of poem I am more interested in what my readers perceive of it. I have mentioned ‘death of the author’ before, but this poem well and truly is a representation of that in the sense that I do not want to cast an image of what I think it is about.

Wooden Walls

Grey Jungle

Their doorstep

Humble Abode

Descriptions of place within the poem

Something really interesting I found is talking about why I changed the title so last minute. So ‘There Were Whispers’ focuses on time and ‘There, We’re Whispers’ focuses on place and individuals. Throughout the poem I refer to various places, but ‘humble abode’ denotes feelings of kinship and a homey feeling that has caused problems for the voice.

What are these problems though?

No, it is not that cold snap,
Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,
The houses left tender – just a whisper.
In howls of the past; here they entrap.

Rhyming Example

If you notice, the poem rhymes, stops in a peculiar place, keeps going and then ends without a rhyme. This is to symbolise rhythm with life once a previous assumption/pleasure is challenged. That we stop to think about it, try to move on with our lives but the activity/thing becomes irreparable moving forward.

Moving onto the last stanza, I want to talk about how it completely changed and how that affects the final meaning. Originally, it was meant to be:

There were whispers

and I was afraid.

Pre-production Last Stanza

Other than being a total rip-off ‘The Walking Dead’ comic issue, it felt like it did not serve the rest of the poem. Being afraid is only apparent if you make a few leaps and jumps over rivers of confusion in the poem. Being shameful is relevant with people asking who he is, the ‘spitting lights’ which casts imagery of him being lesser, the contrast with being salvation but also being Satan…

There, we’re whispers

And I followed that shame.

Published Last stanza

But as I say, I am a big fan of what people think! Do let me know what you think in the comments, social media, or even emails!

Thank you to everyone so far who has given comments and their thoughts on my writing! It has been a blast to read!

There, We’re Whispers

Website Version Here

By Christos Floratos

In grainy corridors calling distant lights

Where shadows erect pillars of blight,

The wooden walls beg down upon me,

And here I am left quaking at its fee.

 

No, it is not that cold snap,

Nor is it that summer’s shimmer,

The houses left tender – just a whisper.

In howls of the past; here they entrap.

 

Arsonists of hate and weavers of sorrow

They gather like dying moths to flickering toilet lights.

“Isn’t that him?” They whisper and spray,

With their stuttered voice and eyes disarray,

 

Like Satan is on their door step and all they can do

Is whisper and point at him.

The farmer of salvation dug deep in mud yet

No one utters a word to him.

 

Neon lights echo a howling gale through the grey jungle

Flashes flash as Utterers utter

“Tell us more.” They demand then hide,

However, they’ve been blinded by their gaze to the blaring sun.

Yet here I am in this humble abode,

Ants follow and sheep’s tune to anode

For you see,

It all came with one simple mist…

 

Because of those whispers

And those damn spitting lights

It shook me here in this necropolis disintegrating

And all those sheep are going,

And here in the back of the cities I must confess,

 

There, we’re whispers.

And I followed the shame.

 

© Christos Floratos 2019

This is one of those ‘death of the author’ poems I alluded too that would come in this collection. I am so interested in what other people think this poem is about, so shoot me a message on my social medias or leave a comment below!

Other poems of the Autumn, That Bastard collection:

What The Heck am I Rambling About? #3 – Night-Time Colours

Night-Time Colours is about some of the feelings experienced in a night-club. It is a celebration of the beauty such a night holds but also a critique on the almost-carnivorous repetition these nights create. It is the third poem of the ‘Autumn, That Bastard‘ Poetry Collection and maybe the most digestible of them all!

‘What The Heck Am I Rambling About?’ is me talking about the meanings I intended in my creative and poetic works!

Check out the poem here before reading ahead where you can also read my Author’s Comments section: Night-Time Colours

I used to very much enjoy going to clubs occasionally and spending the night out with friends. Dancing away to music. But now, sometimes, not all the time, I am hit with an anxiety in a club space. There’s a feeling of limited control and what I think is a “loudness to compete with the loudness”. In such a space, ‘intimacy has no atrium’ and as such, love and hook-up culture can be freely explored. To an extent, celebrated.

The colours and lights I refer to are what people are drawn to. Because amidst the bobbing of the head, amidst the undulating movement of bodies, people want to be in the centre of the night-club. I use the oxymoron of ‘silent-loud decree’ that there is an expectation and eagerness to be presentable. Yet this dress-codes runs in direct opposition of this purpose. How the hell do you dance comfortably in those clothes? Yet, we rarely challenge it and it is ultimately the ‘cruel-bouncer’ who blocks them and they don’t get to dance, hence the ‘stale legs’ imagery.

As mentioned to in the author’s comment section of Nigh-Time Colours, this is both a celebration of this youthful culture but also a critique of it. Although the poem ends on a somewhat hopeful night, the repetition is cyclical and nights like a clubbing night will happen again. This is just one of the ways it relates to the Autumn, That Bastard poetry collection.

You can check out the other poems so far in the collection here:

Leave me your thoughts about this in the comments!