What I can’t write has been flapping in the wind like shreds of rain. Some ache, vague, sticks to those words as to the gesture, suspended, of fingers and it’s this far away look that rubs it in. Silence does not flap, it wraps me, wet. We are strangers shivering behind the same face in a mirror of ripples and the smile is but the uncanny effect of tears held upon the ground. A puddle. Thoughts lean forward and their lips touch, but not their breath. And I grow weary of staring at the untold, coldly undisturbed. So, I stamp my bare foot with the defiant determination of welcoming a fever. Words splash and this dormancy is scattered in every direction. Let it spatter a page to be crumpled before this estrangement from any conceivable poem seizes my ankles, as I bundle the wind in the shreds of rain and walk away, leaving a trail of ink where the rippled mirror has been. Goodbye, stranger. You don’t read at all like me.
Captivating Alex, your imagery is compelling and profound.
Paul;-)
Reviewed by Joseph* OneLight*® (Reader)
Reviewed on February 19, 2006
Xuxa,
All of your writing has a simple elegance to it and this poem is no exception. I absolutely love the image of your bare foot stamping in the puddle ... it's pure genius! If you can write like this even when you feel estranged from expression, then I can't wait until the next splash you make on the page.
Oh Alexandra this captured so well the funny mood I too am in this morning, sometimes it seems that our work is deemed to be insignificant and we stretch to make it more meaningful. YOur work however is always the honest truth and your beautiful soul shines through.
Felix
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on February 18, 2006
Damn! Wish I'd said that. But I never could. Not in the aching, almost melancholy way that you did. I was beginging to have the empty, cold spot winside my chest as I read your words because, like they say, been there. Good.
Pour yourself a monogrammed OneLight flute of wine, entwine your arm in Joseph's, holding the flute, tip it for him and let Joseph sip first, the bounty of a good harvest, and then flip to a page which displays Hieronymus Bosch. Alexandra, there's no better inspiration than Joseph at your side and in your light.
Sage
Reviewed by Vesna Perkovic (Reader)
Reviewed on February 18, 2006
So, I stamp my bare foot with the defiant
determination of welcoming a fever
been there done that..
seems us scorpios react in like manner..
Early Works is an exhaustive compilation of the first decade of the poems and stories of Z.B.McClure. Included are family photos, rare personal photos, photos of 1st draft manuscripts of many of his early poems. Also some biography and memoir materia
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
Share
Print
Save
Follow
gripping poem, Alexandra ... excellent, concept & imagery ...
Paul;-)
All of your writing has a simple elegance to it and this poem is no exception. I absolutely love the image of your bare foot stamping in the puddle ... it's pure genius! If you can write like this even when you feel estranged from expression, then I can't wait until the next splash you make on the page.
All my love,
Xoxo
Felix
Sage
determination of welcoming a fever
been there done that..
seems us scorpios react in like manner..
exceptional write..
Vesna:)
Love,
Eileen
Mesmerizing...beautiful poetry. Outstanding imagery and emotion; well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.