Cover me tonight,
for all the satins and the finest silk
can’t hide holes in a moth-eaten heart.
Can a heart be hung and neglected in one's (Oooh, we are Prince Charles aren't we? No buttered scones for me ma'am, I'm off to play the grawnd piano!) emotional wardrobe for so long? I mean, moth - eaten? Y'see, before I was rudely interupted by my parenthesis, my dimly lit eyes read 'satins' as 'statins', thinking, the arteries to one's heart are clogged up, thus signifying that I Arthur, king of th...oops, I digress - symbolising neglect, hence my momentary lapse of concord. Am I making sense? Golly, thanks Baloo! Oh boy, the bear nece.....tut.
Thus take me far away this evening
and, my love, we won’t go anywhere.
In other words, you are here, in the wardrobe (canyon) of your mind in the section labelled bliss. Cue Viv Stansfield exaggerated dramatics.
for in my mirror is only tarnish
and the youth of hope grown old.
In my heart and eyes ... an esoteric blending of ontology and somatic insights laced together with the silken threads of poetic brilliance. Your words ring clarion - to this reader - with sensitivity and hidden struggles. Fifty is going to be your best transition KB.
I find your work riveting, Kate -- this poem is no exception. A wonderful write, allowing your readers to see from two points of view. Excellent and thought-provoking!
Love,
CJ
now, will you write us a book? this is excellent poetry that stirs my heart and takes my breath away because I want to be in the story (like Jane Austen's books... sometimes :)) love it!! Dawn
It's been too long since I have been here to read your work! You've captured this in total Jane Austen style.
This: "for trinkets hold no mystery –
with their tawdry falsehoods of dust and paste."
Brilliant!!
you may not go anywhere but you sure have arrived at being there ... you've managed to capture a heart bruised by life while striving to be embraced and supported by the influence and receptiveness of a "noble mind" willing to share the passions of "the finest of venues." the effect is a deep romantic sigh ...
Love this cosmic and earthy write, home is where the heart is, when there is love, location, and embellishments are void of importance, the real food of life, is love....
so romantic
pax A
Regardless of the talents of Jane Austen, this is another example of 'your' talents as a writer. Perhaps the spinster in this poem would be better served to ride the carpet of your words to her 'far away' with her lover. Excellent Kate.
Rusty
Ah sweet Kate, I know this was not written in the first person about you for you are so young in heart and soul that you are ageless but I can feel the pangs of aging that this write evokes. Your images are always crystal clear and beautiful though just a little sad at times. I loved this one Kate. Well done dear one.
Indeed, the real Kate, the world and its trappings will never ever bind you, only that which really matters in your pure heart of finest gold, where no moths or rust can touch, is your real addy....
Even though you could take the other road, like Christina you know the road to take, albeit, less travelled...
Candid, yet as beautiful as the poets heart... Stay on the narrow road... My dear mentor.....x
Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
Reviewed on March 20, 2007
Now that is class. I like home best too.
Traveled too much in my youth, bones are tired.
Always did like and love a stay-at-home girl... and most especially when she gets into the mood described in this stunning poetry write!
You've done some good one, Pretty Thing, but this one will be printed and posted... just to the left of my heart. Nice, nice, nice. - Bill
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
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for all the satins and the finest silk
can’t hide holes in a moth-eaten heart.
Can a heart be hung and neglected in one's (Oooh, we are Prince Charles aren't we? No buttered scones for me ma'am, I'm off to play the grawnd piano!) emotional wardrobe for so long? I mean, moth - eaten? Y'see, before I was rudely interupted by my parenthesis, my dimly lit eyes read 'satins' as 'statins', thinking, the arteries to one's heart are clogged up, thus signifying that I Arthur, king of th...oops, I digress - symbolising neglect, hence my momentary lapse of concord. Am I making sense? Golly, thanks Baloo! Oh boy, the bear nece.....tut.
Thus take me far away this evening
and, my love, we won’t go anywhere.
In other words, you are here, in the wardrobe (canyon) of your mind in the section labelled bliss. Cue Viv Stansfield exaggerated dramatics.
for in my mirror is only tarnish
and the youth of hope grown old.
Surely not!
Charolotte Rampling was never like this.
Regards
Dai
Light and Wisdom and ((((((((HUGS))))))))
Love,
CJ
or sompen like that lol Great work!
It's been too long since I have been here to read your work! You've captured this in total Jane Austen style.
This: "for trinkets hold no mystery –
with their tawdry falsehoods of dust and paste."
Brilliant!!
for all the satins and the finest silk
can’t hide holes in a moth-eaten heart."
Yhis is one stabbing truth my friend!!
Love Tinka
so romantic
pax A
Rusty
Fee
Even though you could take the other road, like Christina you know the road to take, albeit, less travelled...
Candid, yet as beautiful as the poets heart... Stay on the narrow road... My dear mentor.....x
Traveled too much in my youth, bones are tired.
Smooch...
Elizabeth
You've done some good one, Pretty Thing, but this one will be printed and posted... just to the left of my heart. Nice, nice, nice. - Bill
I find that sometimes it's easier to just stay home. It's never easy to cover up and try to be what we are not.
Such powerful emotion and imagery in few lines: perfection, thy name is Kate Burnside! If I could write like this..........sigh. Well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.