Born from Mother Chaos and Father Order
Mother vivid, brash, capricious, and tormented
Father drab, introverted, obsessed, and tormented
Each ordered in their imbalances, each oblivious
I acknowledge order whether I see it or like it or not, for
The paradox of order is in chaos and the illusion of control.
My hypervigilance is on guard against the illusion of chaos
And the ordered predictability of abuse and exploitation.
Imposed order is an impossible misfit but keeps me warm
I wear it willingly when in vast sterile plains of rumination
I have my orders and you have yours, our toy soldiers
Sometimes line up and march side by side in parades
How can my obsessions and compulsions for order
Be disordered? Too many choices, too little choice
Too many chosen, too few choosable, in perpetuity
Order is an illusory anchor that tethers my homeostasis.
Laura Bloomsbury is today’s host of dVerse. Laura says:
today’s prompt is ORDER – the NOUN not the verb:
“the arrangement or disposition of people or things in relation to each other according to a particular sequence, pattern, or method.”
– Write a poem that expresses, directly or indirectly, 1st or 3rd person, your relationship with order – do you like it, want it, need it or resist it?
– Think of the way order turns up in our lives: e.g.the order of the seasons, of ceremony.
– Use the word in your title or in the body of your poem if you like
– For an extra challenge, put your poem into the order of formal poetic patterning.