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April Pittman

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Anchor My Anchor, We Sink
by April Pittman

Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by April Pittman
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           >> View all 212

laughter clips and gallops
into a silent midday room
not a trot nor a canter
but pounds the lack of sound
into a hard, packed surface
from which impish tendrils escape
to rise in dusty red spirals
in the pauses between where I inhale

a whisper brushes my window
the trees nod joyously their assent
with a whimsical tilt of their heads
and a merry roll of their shoulders
as dry leaves titter bashfully
at the repeated loss of my innocence
sunlight bursting through the openings
when branches are eased apart with care
and an artifice Humbert would envy
to allow a dazzling penetration
a feigned slip and then a gentle soothing

the sheets are warm beneath my hands
to give a perfect credence
to the closed eyes and careful mind
that I lend toward imagining you here
the ridges of my fingerprints
each tiny and unique swirl
rasp across the fabric in ticklish arcs
that sound so loud as the laughter fades
into the felt but not heard sound
of my heartbeat timing itself by yours
 

 

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Reviewed by Regis Auffray 11/11/2010
Truly fine poetry that can be "felt" deeply as I read, April. Thank you for sharing this gift. Love and best wishes,

Regis
Reviewed by Paul Judges 11/11/2010
A very fine composition.
Reviewed by John Flanagan 11/11/2010
This is subtle writing, April, subtly passionate intertwine of external and internal, environment and self...and for me there is wonderful impact in 'leaves titter bashfully at the repeated loss of my innocence' and the Humbert and Lolita image is a gem.
This is fine work.

John



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