before a white-starched evening
our lobster-world slowly boils in
I was still In The Beginning
dancing across an old love’s face
Who stole the moon?
a skeleton, tender as spoons
“low spark of high-heeled boys”
the dog in the dumpster
rising salt-damp
In the mirror our heads were close together
My broad-leafed innocence
parts her ventral-to-toe
he combs back his Brylcreem slicks
Reaching from the darkened middle distance
the long death-row sleep
littered bench-seats
all dove-tailing ripples
and castaway, sand-written
shakily crafted crippled lines
My twin, tanned pork medallions suddenly lost their appeal
... if this sounds a little familiar, then you're right! :)) This is another enjambement of random lines, but taken from each of my 20 NaPoWriMos this time... xx
I love the theme of this poem..Very clever indeed!!! You have been doing a fantastic job with Poetry Month..I don't have the time otherwise it would have been a fun challenge...
Love your poetry no matter why you are writing..You hare fantastic my dear heart, simply fantastic!
The brilliance of some of your lines stick out like a hundred "land-scape" shots in a single frame. ...surely too much beauty for one spot-- a resume of creativity dotted with scenic attractions: "pork medallions" point; "darkened middle distance" rock; the "skeleton spoon" precipice; and "white-starched evening" national monument, etc... all these lovely snippets on display. It's like driving down a Las Vegas strip, only more beauty, and less glitz. Holy Cow you're good. --Charlie
I was going to comment on how random each line was until I read your footnote and it was not necessary. Always a pleasure to have my mind tickled with your creative thoughts. God bless you with many more. Hugs
Pay no mind to Stephanie (below). She writes poetry, according to her bio page - but hmmm. No titles to her name! Is she jealous? I am, a bit, but not to attack. I love the way you write, Kate - keep writing, you'll ALWAYS have a friend/fan in me. Well done.
well it is pretty kewl to me, it made me remember the brylcream and dove tail haircuts of the teens before the Beetles, cigarette packs rolled up in tee shirt sleeves, the black, red silk lined boots we called coffin boots...and so much more...
fee
Virgin reminiscence, where does it all begin, where does it end? Tanned pork medallions replaced by leg of lamb bit the shoestring, Kate..."dancing across an old love's face" gives this piece the Burnside trademark, a metaphor I can honestly say I wished I was that old love...you've left us with a month of wonderful poetry, a marvelous effort to school us on how it's done.
Perhaps "..Quiet Storm" will help rekindle old flames buried and long forgotten or express the love so deeply locked inside of your soul longing to be released.
Regardless of where you may be found in love this beautiful masterpiece can be
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Carole~
Georg
Love your poetry no matter why you are writing..You hare fantastic my dear heart, simply fantastic!
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
...theres that dog and dumpster again, you dear lady have a fetish for those two things, maybe you should go dumpster diving just for fun...ed
Georgexx
Roll on, Baby!
John
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
fee
Newfie Hugs, Rose
(((HUGS))) And much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :)
(Ignore the person below. :( )
Love,
Sage