More poems, so you will get sick of them.
I might be busy tomorrow, so I'll get all my posts in tonight!
your feet pad down our
tiny nothallway and
I find myself (crushed)
held still womblike vainly
blocking out the sound of flesh caressing that
which is not my body.
Such dreams that flesh can hold capped as
bottled air invisible we
fly through our moments crashing as
echoes held
fast and silent by years.
Comes the sound of water, flick of a hand against
a wall, seal flapping feet on
cool clay tile. I
bend rigid against the bed, silent
register for returns, awaiting
chill hand against warm back
the slide of cotton turned to satin.
The seconds of
these darkened mornings seal themselves
fossils in rock, tempered
burnt into my body.
(this one above is weak. I'll have to revise and repost....)
the following was written after 9/11. I couldn't get the pregnant widows out of my head)
The dust of daily life settles, flutter, to a dull
roar on our cleaner streets
a stretch to envision pieces of
those we have loved strewn across them
wreckage of life made
refuse, compost, and
tidied away.
We see who we are now.
Enmasse we stare into the sun the
worried roars of flight tearing our
sight from our hands.
We are halved, drawn and quartered gutted to
move away on shadows of our past lives. Distances
become smaller.
The sky is not yet so vast.
All will laugh. All will cry. Prayers float towards that
same fearful sky as doves from their cages flee, only to
settle in the
crippled limbs of a dying elm.
The streets will be littered
with the carnage of our terror.
Their eyes will never seem so young.
(WANKWANKWANK)
Time for bed. And thanks for reading. I'm really digging the little community I've stumbled into.
your feet pad down our
tiny nothallway and
I find myself (crushed)
held still womblike vainly
blocking out the sound of flesh caressing that
which is not my body.
Such dreams that flesh can hold capped as
bottled air invisible we
fly through our moments crashing as
echoes held
fast and silent by years.
Comes the sound of water, flick of a hand against
a wall, seal flapping feet on
cool clay tile. I
bend rigid against the bed, silent
register for returns, awaiting
chill hand against warm back
the slide of cotton turned to satin.
The seconds of
these darkened mornings seal themselves
fossils in rock, tempered
burnt into my body.
(this one above is weak. I'll have to revise and repost....)
the following was written after 9/11. I couldn't get the pregnant widows out of my head)
The dust of daily life settles, flutter, to a dull
roar on our cleaner streets
a stretch to envision pieces of
those we have loved strewn across them
wreckage of life made
refuse, compost, and
tidied away.
We see who we are now.
Enmasse we stare into the sun the
worried roars of flight tearing our
sight from our hands.
We are halved, drawn and quartered gutted to
move away on shadows of our past lives. Distances
become smaller.
The sky is not yet so vast.
All will laugh. All will cry. Prayers float towards that
same fearful sky as doves from their cages flee, only to
settle in the
crippled limbs of a dying elm.
The streets will be littered
with the carnage of our terror.
Their eyes will never seem so young.
(WANKWANKWANK)
Time for bed. And thanks for reading. I'm really digging the little community I've stumbled into.
Both fabulous actually.
I love the ' stretch to envision pieces of those we have loved strewn across them'
That's the thing we all try to do in the light of these momentious news events - try to imagine ourselves and loved ones in it - I guess if we don't that means we've lost our humanity.
More more.
I also loved the closing of the first one. How you can take little moments from life and turn them into this thing that you remember forever - The seconds of these darkened mornings seal themselves fossils in rock - very true, and a beautiful way of phrasing it.
Posted by
Anonymous |
8:53 p.m.
wow. Hearing the interpretations of other's reading my items is kinda neat. And I like it when someone notices the image that caused the piece to happen to begin with.
The pieces strewn? I could not remove the image of some pregnant woman being handed a bag only containing their partner's arm with the wedding ring on it, and that being all they had left. That bothered me somehow.
And tiny moments are sometimes all we ever have...as i've noticed in life....I still remember how it felt the first time the Dorf kissed me, and I can recall that feeling at will...
I'm so lame....
Thanks for the input Herge. It makes my day sometimes.
Posted by
thordora |
1:12 p.m.