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E P I T H E TH E S I O L G I S T

worn the strident bones
like chestnut limbs
on a ledge of structure

Into the clasp of worn
brass the jar
the glass declines
into a darkened deep
the handle the sleeve

A sleep like winter
crawling in the little
breaths
these easing deaths
a vein like an ant
in a dream marching

the shiny sting
beneath the hot
filament

firmament
sheen
an eye
drowned as
an angel
dilating

Gemini's
and true paternal
twins

lost in winters
between lovers

this satchel
burden

like wings
in the valley
of darkness

they will
fear no evils

Editing stage: 

Comments

We get a theatre of images that trigger off
our minds to wander, like an old fashioned
children's train, along known tracks and get
surprise combinations that create other associations,
ending up with a whole picture collage of sudden glimpses.

As ever Ann.

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

people who tune in to everything
sights sounds....their body responses
It might explain how I couldnt focus
through the years
How I can be outside
and a conversation is going on
I see the jet plane high overhead
hear the bus on a street over
and check my watch to see if its
running on time
Smell the hair shampoo of the
person talking and feel the rings
of metal on my hands in one
thought wave...
and then a crow on a pole
speaks and I think about
power...how if a power line
falls one must shuffle because
there are rings of electricity
and if you step you break the
voltage between the invisible
rings and they arc through your
body so I am always afraid of
power lines...late buses
because of my anxiety of
being late and all the sounds
and ads on the bus....evertime
My eyes land on something
the thousand thoughts running
through my head

my poetry is just a normal
few minutes of my entire day
..

I like the train motiff
I like the combinations you talk of
like chemical chains
atomic chains
those glimpses
a kaliedescope
of creativity

Its not too bad...I look at it all
in positive
when I pour all my concentration
into it I can focus ..keep eye contact
write a poem...actually sometimes
hear what people are saying
..
sometimes..

author comment

wash them ..wait for them to dry and wear them
over and over....I have to pass between a parking
meter and a pole downtown and go through the
legs of just one sign by a coffee shop
I have to have my favourite coffee cup that
I have had for years..I pick up garbage on the street
and hold doors open and listen to the same
song over and over while writing

just half of it.....Sensory Integration something or other..

author comment

wash them ..wait for them to dry and wear them
over and over....I have to pass between a parking
meter and a pole downtown and go through the
legs of just one sign by a coffee shop
I have to have my favourite coffee cup that
I have had for years..I pick up garbage on the street
and hold doors open and listen to the same
song over and over while writing

just half of it.....Sensory Integration something or other..

author comment

Over and over
the voice that moves me
Stops me anywhere

I play It when I write
For comfort
To feel good

It brings me joy
Sadness
Excitement
All rolled into one

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

I see it now
like lyrics in songs..
phonetics and heart felt connections

cadences
and choirs
Now theres a mix
that worked in medieval times
and the raw Howl
that spurned battlefeilds
in Hadrians time

the quiet mellow
healing
of the ruins
and steady slow run
when peace pervades

throw open a book
the u tube
Neopoet
and relax

comfort....

author comment

takes you away
to places unknown
friendly places
sad places
a whole other world

The music moves you
lets you come out of yourself
forget the present
revisit the past
go into the future

shut your eyes
dream pleasant dreams
float between the notes
melodies of expression
of hope and love

Keep Writing,
Carrie

"Quoth said the Raven, NEVERMORE"

It depends on what I am writing as to what I will listen to but like you I play it over and over and over I don't listen to the words so much as listen to the music and then the words pour out, its wonderful to read you again Steven, I felt bombarded with images but that wasn't a bad thing I had flashes of pictures or paintings like a film moving from scene to scene with a slow grace

love JC xxx

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

u r like the Niagara Falls

a tonne of words
just fall
and the thud sound sends vibrations
in all directions
some like me catch all
others Just wonder
what happened
your poetry enthralls

loved

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