Steal not
the intimacy:
flowers die in vain
in tasteless vases
they’re left, after the invasion
and theft
due to your Vanity.
Just shallow waters
and an ill-chosen yellow
for sand
watercolor passé
on a once miraculous desk
dry brushes with rust
love put to rest
the taste of failure
alluring test.
In the end, the charm was gone
knife scratched enamel
of expensive stainless smile, then
countless miles, centuries, sleepless nights,
storms and floods, even
silence…
no hocus-pocus drama
no deus ex machina
can cover the inconspicuous tragedy
that is due to your Vanity.
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Reviews of "_ _"
Reviewed by Rafika Anderson (Reader)
Reviewed on May 6, 2012
"Steal not the intimacy" absolutely captured my heart. Perfect opening line for a piece on trust and betrayal.
I love your approach here, Axilea. Original and true! Verse 2 made me feel sad, and left me wondering if ever my desk will collect dust and my pens will run dry from abandonment. Enjoyed.
Sheila
i see in the context of the theme 'inconspicuous'
is perfectly right to modify 'tragedy' ...storm
in a teacup scenario; in the 'bigger picture' of the
world vanity is the shallowness that tempts the empty
we are the whole of us, mankind, victims of self-esteem that far exceeds our innate abilities - how wonderfully you tell this story that intrigues the imagination - love stories ending in tragedy are always doomed by vanity - your poem entertains and educates with perspective Axilia - I wish you love and peace my dear friend - Jon Michael
vanity is the destructive machine of mankind ... though i have to say, sometimes the vehicle of vanity is the reflection of justifiable self-esteem ...
Very cleverly written
The rest of my review was stolen!
Reviewed by RWE SAYS BYE (Reader)
Reviewed on April 25, 2012
winning close to the mark here would press the noblesse oblige of an homage due to your vanity were I to tell how much these lines mean to me... elegant, clean, refined, sophisticated and super-subtle edge close to the perimeter of the passions outlined in this winsome, gambit... I feel the need to counter... watch out...
I'm imagining the Deus ex Machina as The Cat in the Hat in his little put-it-backer machine (squeak, clank, whirr). And just what would he put back? No, here there's mystery-- nameless mystery, and somehow less loneliness, I think, than if things were put back to rites (I didn't say "rights").
The poem builds from the first strophe, which is full of V's (vain, vases, invasion, vanity) and feels sort of barren. The second has some repeting vowel sounds and rhymes (O's and w's, desk-rest-test) and has some visual imagery in pastels of yellows and rust--feels less barren than sort of dumpy. In the end strophe, is the climax--knife scratching enamel smiles and storms and floods, subtly woven throughout that part are the softer n's, m's cutting short hissing s's, culminating in "silence..." It winds down at that point with what feels like an emptying stage-- actors limping away, and the reader/theater feeling the gutteral effects of the play (on words)--(c's in hocus-pocus, ex machina, can, cover, inconspicuous). V ends the poem again, but it's an empty victory.
The pic you posted is perfect for the piece, sets the perfect tone. Hope to read more of you soon. --Charlie
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
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Amor
Blessings,
Christine
Lady Mary Ann
Allways,
Deborah
Sheila
is perfectly right to modify 'tragedy' ...storm
in a teacup scenario; in the 'bigger picture' of the
world vanity is the shallowness that tempts the empty
once again, Axilea, you're there and you know
john
Ron
as always, uniquely clever imagery and motif ...
Love and Light
Angel
The rest of my review was stolen!
The poem builds from the first strophe, which is full of V's (vain, vases, invasion, vanity) and feels sort of barren. The second has some repeting vowel sounds and rhymes (O's and w's, desk-rest-test) and has some visual imagery in pastels of yellows and rust--feels less barren than sort of dumpy. In the end strophe, is the climax--knife scratching enamel smiles and storms and floods, subtly woven throughout that part are the softer n's, m's cutting short hissing s's, culminating in "silence..." It winds down at that point with what feels like an emptying stage-- actors limping away, and the reader/theater feeling the gutteral effects of the play (on words)--(c's in hocus-pocus, ex machina, can, cover, inconspicuous). V ends the poem again, but it's an empty victory.
The pic you posted is perfect for the piece, sets the perfect tone. Hope to read more of you soon. --Charlie