And Me, Of The Flower And The Burn

aDarkerMind



     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) (Online Online)
  • Published: July 19th, 2021 11:41
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 35
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Comments +

Comments1

  • L. B. Mek

    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

    • aDarkerMind

      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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