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Static

Submitted by Stephanie on Fri, 2014-01-24 10:52

As I ensconce amongst the rubble
Matured leaves scattered about me
The appeasing roar of passing cars brings solace
I sense a chill, but this is nothing new
Paralysed ice inhabits my chest, weighing me down
Aching as though to personify pain
The glacier has already turned the liquid substance rushing through my veins from red to blue
The youthful warmth; erased
So let the wind blow from East, West
For this is nothing new, nothing new to my chest

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Editing - polished draft

Comments

Esker

Sun, 2014-01-26 16:17

Esker's picture

first line
the opening prologue is great
your use of words reminds me that
i can learn a thing or two about
reading more poetry and books

the use of erase is fantastic
a good word here for this feeling
or lack of...ive never heard it put
this way..

im glad i came here before i work
on my painting...before the kids
come home and take over the house
..

tradition use of north wind..cold
shivery ....instead of the east west
winds traditional weather for the islands
..

your work is polished..
as you write

anyway thank you very much
for these poems

Mr Esker!

Stephanie

Sun, 2014-01-26 19:45

Stephanie's picture

Thank you, Mr Esker. I still have a bit of work to do on this as I feel it doesn't flow as well as it could.

author comment

Esker

Tue, 2014-03-04 01:39

Esker's picture

has turned my crimson . hues of blue
the frigid very touch of you...

im reading my works.....to my cell recorder
then re working it..like the old little units
for re writing letters...for the letter writers..
i like this thought of this..my physical self
writing what the thinking creative side is up
too...i have yet to read works here to post
voice wise....but i like the idea..

you run deep...new....i like the idea of love
being a glacier...all that freshness locked
changed..turned..

the ice queen

glaciers are magical places
powerful
haunted...full of spirit wanders
like love
haunted

poetry is like a journey
i strip down my works
for carrying light
but my thinking is heavy
and words are nearby
just hard to see the tree
in the forest of thoughts

i like how this work is raw
but the pitch of it rings
well

thank you..

Esker

Tue, 2014-03-04 01:41

Esker's picture

and plans...

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