new light through Pisces window snakes
the tainted throat of Summer spits her love
a decade flaunts its haunting starts
its prelude pumping Winter through the long arch of the ache;
hymns church-rock reeling clock-wise to the owl
in irons bound for Saturns sudden glow
the tall mouth beats the famine tunes the whisper
as sings seafarers bottle-neck and leans a further south;
the air that gravels voice and grave for the heavens pick
knots railway trees to the grumble-weeds of bullring
walking still-born to the headstone of the Stork
with mummied hands and a single strand of air;
as old haunts chant and crave a gauntlets touch
the mountains breast feeds earthworm tail and thunder
the blades of teeth bite cheerful Magpies barrow
shaped as sea as bright as rainbows trout;
my marrowbone gives chase the knuckled foot
the last street bandaged tight, the horned-mist blows
feeding Capricorn a rose from Cancers garden
drifting merry widows sidestreet to a storm;
new light through Pisces window snakes
white oil of house too cold to father dust
the chimes that weld its fingers to my okra
home to the painted landscape on my rib;
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Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 2nd, 2021 19:17
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments1
'the air that gravels voice
and grave for the heavens pick
knots railway trees
to the grumble-weeds of bullring
walking still-born
to the headstone of the Stork
with mummied hands
and a single strand of air;
as old haunts chant and crave
a gauntlets touch'..
In so much of the poetry
you've kindly chosen to share
there is such a clear highlight
of that first loss, we humans feel
when for whatever reason
we notice, a nurturer's caring presence - missing
and I like, how you continuously
emphasise that crucial moment in our development
(humanity's skulls and brains
maximise their growth by age three,
the only part of our development
to reach its physical capacity, so early)..
you then, filter those images
to interact with the subject of your poetry
and in so doing, allow us to glean the correlation
to that single thread of occurrence, turned consequence...
thank you! dear Poet
'what a Talent!
thank you L B...
many losses tho wont pretend I have suffered any more than anyone;
but still I put pen to paper and grieve;
your support is always welcome;
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