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Waiting

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Winter is leaving.
With each slant of sun,
another leaf unfurls

The room
with its' faded walls
and melancholy air, seems
pale and wan
in the watery light, and yet -
his brown length seems darker.

In the distance
a train whistle sounds,
a plaintive cry
like the drawn out soul of a note,
and the moon is a pearl
hiding her fading glow behind
the pink yawn of dawn

He sighs in his sleep

The cat meows at the door, wanting
to be let out

The tick of the bedside clock
keeps solemn time

He sighs again,
his warm breath a hush

Passions' memory
drapes over her like a pashmina,
as she lays there
watching him

Last night -

She remembers the gentle heaviness
of him

She recalls his touch,
his hands like stars
upon her wanting skin,
and it's all she can do
to not wake him -
confess to him -

her darkness,
her longing,

her ache.

.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

the scene you bring to us. It is accurate, in as much as the late night, early morning after-glow, when one wishes that the moment would last forever and you could tell all your secrets to your new-born lover. Stunning and yet subtle. ~ Geez.
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I find this a mixed bag, which seems pretty normal for a rough draft. There are some stellar lines: the moon and the dawn, the pashmina, hands like stars and some cliched ones: watery light, the soul of notes, the train whistle. I particularly like the mixture of meditation and the everyday reality of the clock, the cat. I wonder about the purpose of the first stanza - is it just setting the scene (this is an early spring day) or is it meant to imply something in conjunction with the last stanza (i.e., it seems like spring is metaphorically beginning for the narrator but then, nope, it is perpetual dark, achy winter in the narrator's psychology). If the goal is a bigger implication, I think it's not quite there yet. I'm interested to see where this goes.

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