neither love nor fever heals
the stale wind in a winters claw
as draws an ever nearing to a note.
shrimp bone heads in a Fathers day parade
chomping the grass-eyed cabers wheat beast yield
harvesting the throbbing hay on a leaning hill
neither love nor fever heals;
neither tramps nor harbours sleep
chimneys the shearing of the barking owl
nor circles the god-seed as she pines.
one Masters voice; he with the snow hair and a shallow pole
walks north towards his southern belle
in his worthless rags and his coat-trail trim
neither tramps nor harbours sleep;
stitch the foundling to my ears
we will chance the forearms whispers with our hands
plant for the litter of our fate.
neither prisoners nor stilts for the tall beards sun
neither scars for the moon with his pregnant eyes;
neither love nor fever heals
the stale wind in a winters claw
still shadows the slaves of our trees;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 28th, 2021 17:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments2
WOW packed with wonderful imagery and word play. Love it. Cheers
most kind..thank you;
'neither love nor fever heals
the stale wind in a winters claw'..
*could we one, and all be sealed
by that grip of our anxiety's maw;
would we - but
succumb, to snare
all that dreary, in our despair
within wings of soaring - tears
climbing, higher
as we forsaken - hurtle lower, asking
be it life or lust or zest
when we know - it will, but expire
a craw serenades, fate's - waiting jest
as vampires feast, on charcoaled veins
and mothers, yearn
stoic fathers, ever stern
and we, lost children - bereft
from that accursed, first breadth
grip, for dear life - asking
why, but why - must
we: even try...*
(wow, I'm sorry dear Poet
I read your masterly lines and a gun went-off
in that egotistically delusional mind, of mine
and I just keyboard drummed, my feeble reply;
please, forgive my overzealous nature
I meant no disrespect by rudely, self-indulgently
writing away in your comments section
if somehow you can, try and view it
as my pitiful show of appreciation, for your
undeniable: poetic prowess!
thank you for inspiring my little scribble
what a gift, you choose to share dear Poet)
what a Talent!
no disrespect shown....or taken L B Mek;
nor would i ever say feeble.
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