Meet poets from around the world — Become a full member — Register Free
Submitted by orgami on 21 July 2007 - 10:51pm.
Style / Type:
freeform
frozen in their clot
corroded
layered and holding fast
my cistern pennies
hard luck comes fast
burns cold like a winter sun
the phone was full of grass winds
when you said your moving phrases
slow and mournful came the knowledge
that you would be going on
walked long those hours under lamps
and hours out of town
stars stretched everywhere
like a drums skin
my beat
my agony
took my shoes off and walked
the warm smooth ashpalt
tears spilling into darkness
dawn found me chilled
and worn
heartbroken and lonely
mile 42
..O..
there were so many stars as many as my tears
the haunted minutes of the hour
the darkness in my heart
(2 votes)
You
are clearly a master of the image and quite a poetic personality to boot–I wonder if these poems are as effortless as they look? I imagine not! Great job
poem tumbles like windrift snow in a nights storm
remember them
in cold grips of January
windows rattling
and wires howling
tucked under blankets
with Bears Bottles or
Mate Bunnies or Pets
the camp the cocoon
the shelter the lair
the den the cave
I write these poems
they come from somehwere
from collected works
famous and unknown
from half dreamt soundtracks
and radio hosts
conversations on the
evening train
destination
they come easy now
long long ago i cried at my
electric with crisp white sheets
my poems horrid like shrapnel
stunted and unloved
filled garbage bags full of
them like white empty skins
clean of colour
of feeling
of experience
then something happened
it started to form
i got older
more settled
more at peace
yet my writing is full
of conflict sometimes
such odds
i shouldnt doubt myself
i am glad you like my poems
that complete strangers
can now read what i once
threw away
it never fails to amaze
me that people can find love
in words
that power is in comprehension
such as this
freeform
worked so hard to be able to
sculpt them
and keep them moving
the challenge and purpose is
to keep them moving from me
to build a body of work
its what i admired about poets
who were published and famous
they had a rythymn
what would a forest be with only
one tree
??..O..
Effortlessly crafted
Or it would seem so. Flows beautifully and doesn’t miss a beat.
‘the phone was full of grass winds,
when you said your moving phrases
slow and mournful came the knowledge
that you would be going on’
Very poignant and well written! Thank you!
Kaz x