my wane
I feel, no less,
this life—my pain
she makes sweet
her breathless kiss
on my drying lips,
the time my soul is let
to mists –'ere seed
burrow in and spring
flora upon me—my
mineral, my soil,
this, lightening, decay,
my shade
her labor holds my head …
a mother's embrace … touches my face—
I fail, uncaught, lapping through her gusty arms—
sifting through her ghostly hands …
let to mist
my airy living peace
To be relieved of this life's shackles, how sweet that might be if you are infested with disease/ pain. A human earthly life no longer providing any pleasure. A kiss of death would be very welcome I suppose. Typically, the female equated with birth, new life, new realm. I personally would see this female role as more of the lusty seductress, not the tenderness of a motherly touch/love. I would have expected more a deep passion between lovers. Not the same love of that with a child. ( Not healing a boo boo kind of a poem.) Visually this lends itself to beauty and is very compelling. And if you had actually wrote flailing arms it might have taken a complete comedic turn and that is not what this should be, I think. The concept is edgy. Cool poem. Unique.
A Collection of Voices from Around the World is more than just a poetry compilation. It is a partnership of poets from around the globe brought together by an internet poetry forum. That forum, poetrypages.com, has been the home of many a fine poet s
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Ron