The primal need! The heart skips a beat at the mere thought of your stiletto apparition. Nostrils flare . . . What is the name of your perfume? Or is it your Phermones that I am inhaling?
I was a wolf once in a previous life; but now, through Metempsychosis, a sheep.
I used to hunt, but now you gather me into your arms before dismissing me as if I were a mere cloud of smoke from a Camel you just exhaled from your lungs.
Although unwounded I STILL BLEED Where the hell do I put the tourniquet?
My heart stops beating yet amazingly, I still live. A love sick Lazarus, in search of the Holy Grail, so that Jesus can undue the harm he has done in raising me up from the Metamorphic dead. Patting me on the back and sending me out there to become a serial lover driving down an endless deadend street.
I am new to this site, but I must say, I am glad I joined. Your imagery and phrases "love sick Lazarus" very gripping. Took me somewhere else for the length of the poem. Thank you.
The following stanza just erupts with visualization:
I used to hunt, but now
you gather me into your arms
before dismissing me as if I were
a mere cloud of smoke
from a Camel
you just exhaled from your lungs.
Keep writing best selling power lines like this, they always come from deep down where no one else can go. Exhaustingly good poem Roger,
blessin's
cynth'ya lewis reed
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
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Kathy
Good job, friend.
Doc
I like the style...see, you do have time to write.
I used to hunt, but now
you gather me into your arms
before dismissing me as if I were
a mere cloud of smoke
from a Camel
you just exhaled from your lungs.
Keep writing best selling power lines like this, they always come from deep down where no one else can go. Exhaustingly good poem Roger,
blessin's
cynth'ya lewis reed