and me, of the flower and the burn
she, a day lost breast inside a brown moons lung
young hands on old sticks
a pleasured curse. a night owl for my shrine;
a severed whim on my cursed carousel
a dry purse where joins language and a sea-beard
storks feet in a tresspass rush
coiling with the burning of my satin snake;
too dark the orange of her tails!
sliced in half the temper of her rusting trowel
her shelved hands for the treasures of my retreat
my sows blood from the milkmaid in my womb;
she is the distance of a crows arm
a black rose for my allotment weed
she is my sprouts eye from the cabin of my kale
sun-dried; my peach with a ladles claw;
nether deaf neither dumb nor blind
a percussion wind for the eardrums of my shins
drowning in my lake with the swans
where wanders the tremors of my white blood oil;
I am the pilgrim of her dove-tail prose reviews
a satanic verse for the still-born of her movement.
me, of the flower and the burn
she, a day lost breast inside a brown moons lung;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 19th, 2021 11:41
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 35
Offline)
Comments1
what a cascading waterfall of acutely chosen
and uniquely vivid metaphorically abstract, imagery..
and I gravitate to your ability in managing
that essential tempo, by increasing your poetry's complexity
at poignant moments:
'drowning in my lake with the swans
where wanders the tremors of my white blood oil;
I am the pilgrim of her dove-tail prose reviews
a satanic verse for the still-born of her movement.
me, of the flower and the burn'..
(drowning
swans
blood-oil) that's just your initial layered - wordplay
and you've planted all those oil leak, disaster images
in our minds already, to reinforce 'her' plight..
(dove-tail
burn) - culminating finale, where again you add to the layers
already 'at play', only now you've 'set ablaze' that initial image
we have of the oil drenched swan...
(pilgrim
satanic verse
still born
flower) now a completely new layer, with double meaning
wordplay, addressing your frustration at the hollowness
you feel, knowing your words, be themselves
will never amount to - decisive or impactful, change..
'What a talent!' wish I could invest more time
in all your writes..
just know I do my best to connect with every aspect
of all your writes,
and I thank you
for choosing to share your poetic brilliance
you are most kind, as always L B Mek;
i know i will never change this world...
am just a frustrated man who struggles to understand it's weakness;
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