How do you sitwhen you sit the deck
clad in gray
huddled in thought
wooled curves
rising and falling
in the natural way
How do you look
when you look my way
first look of the day,
is it far away?
What do you say?
How do you reach
when I sit beside
and what do your fingers say
Nestled warmth
curves fitting
necks bending
my shoulder
your cliff
How do you look
from an inch away
forehead to forehead
eyes pleading
for all that is not said
How do you touch
with lip and breath
when the bellow of lungs
fire like train
and the steam of pistons
pound in ernest
faster and faster
You see, my dear
I have my things
I'd like to know
I have my box
with a bow
_______________
5 comments:
The last two lines was a subconscious reference to an Andy and Justin skit from SNL. :-D
YouTube "Dick in a box" if you're not familiar. :-D
Those last two lines certainly come to life having watched the video :-D
In prose and in poetry, the true measure of a good writer, I have always thought can be found in those very first lines, in the setting up, the setting of the scene. Your prose has always been remarkable in this respect, almost before the beginning has begun hauling, no catapulting esteem with such force as to leave near everyone else behind on the first lap. In your poetry, it is recreated, at times even more nimbly, it seems almost silly when brought to attention for the process in itself is a form of magic that cannot be elucidated without missing the point entirely.
How does one remark upon the simple exquisiteness of a passage like
clad in gray
huddled in thought
wooled curves
rising and falling
in the natural way, how can one dissect and decipher something that is a natural, as fresh and as stimulating as the breeze, one cannot, or at least I cannot, all I can do is express the very great admiration that the writing evokes, wow at the simple loveliness, direct and consummate expressiveness of a phrase like wooled curves, vivid and illustrative and immediate.
How do you reach
when I sit beside
and what do your fingers say
Nestled warmth
curves fitting
necks bending
my shoulder
your cliff
I just want to quote everything back at you, as though in the quote, I can highlight the beauty, show you the limitless of the beauty that you create, so flowingly, so naturally.
Here is the secret. The flower needs a seed, posits that there was a seed and when we see the flower, we know, at some time, a seed was. No seed, no flower. The same is true here. :-)
Sounds like your list wasn't the only thing growing. Btw, I posted another poem, tried some visual imagery. I think it turned out okay.
Bel, I do believe in growing. Growth is good, wouldn't you say? ;-)
On my way to see your poem. :-)
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