Dark settles on the walls, the street lamp blinks light,
dies, then blinks again. A moth- stuck inside the room-
pares its wings on the glass, falls to the windowsill,
then does it again. My eyelids do the same.
I imagine his mouth; the ghosts under
his tongue slide through the cracks of his teeth,
find mine, stay there. And the birds at the
backs of our eyes drink too much to leave.
He told me there's a life of everything, somewhere
else; one that isn't made of feathers or concrete.
I'd be the flayed moth that made it through the glass,
He, the sun, and my guts would be warm under him.
Comments
rather poignant
halos of rust
round a water rimmed tub
thirsty as dusk
I like this poem
rather different
a harsh lyrical
touch
the last line especially
I very much admire
raw beyond the raw
intense!!
thank you!!
.
Thank you for the thoughtful words. Appreciated!
:)
Oh, I like this very much!
Oh, I like this very much! Lovely, strong poem. Thank you
.
Appreciate your passing through :)
Thank you.
from the depths of darkmess
Violets emerge
whence?
in brilliance
once again
violet
Good strong writing here with images that form excellent
Violet
I will bring this one up to the top again as it is worth for others to read, loved it.
Yours Ian.T
Ian & Violet
Thanks Ian for bringing this poem back in stream. I don't know how I had missed this one. It is really a pleasure reading it.
Nice exquisite poem Violet.
Regards,
re:
nice to see this reposted...perfect for this spring storm evening..black and full of
wind and mystery...
"guttural warmth"
" he, my sun..."
i had to write guttural about eight times to get spell check to pass it
from its red reject....but i kept at it....im doing this more although
i despise punctuation
i will study this passion for this flaw and find it somewhere
in my wanderings with the dog..or at work..on the bus..mid-stride
to get a coffee from the black shirted workers at the cafe...
part timers working through college....very dainty and beautiful..
folding laundry or pulled from sleep to get on the roll...
fan idling air like a waiting aircraft on the tarmac...
grrrrrrrrrr.......
words...and people that can juggle them.....balance them
or slop them out like a jasper johnson on canvasse
if i even got that name right....
im liking your word use.....because you use your poetry
like shades...like i try to use lighting in my photography
the idea is to build that three dimension
like a minature
or a granduer illusion
like my discovery of the word Etaite meaning the whole
illusion of the same but many different.....
i was having a fit of madness post christmas
and finding french cinema from the twenties
a film called "starfish" brought forth an illumination
of creativity for me
which of course led me back to fritz lang.
blah blah blah
ignore me...its been a long and interesting day..
thank you.