I sitlike paint settled
in a bucket
an inert sludge
lethargic in
separation
you colored
my life
when we twirled
now you sit
on me
in your dark silence
and I am
helpless
suffocating
hammered shut
from
light
pigment
without
hue
about
as
useful
as
pigment
without
hue
about
as
useless
as pigment (me)
without
you
2 comments:
One day soon I need to take a 24-hour shift at Trebuchet, the work that you have posted here recently has been absolutely superb. This image reminds me a little of CC in as much as the drifting, the sheerness and the glorious symphony of colour. Outstanding image.
The poem, exquisite in beauty, and in sadness. A celebration of language it is also, mouthwatering in its ligature between sound and meaning, the words communicating in every form that perception can take, one does not so much read lines like an inert sludge/lethargic in/separation as feel them, feel the slowness, feel the weight, sigh, regardless of how I say it, it won't explain adequately just how influential the tone of this piece is. This poem becomes a favourite, not because it is superior to others, your poetry all (all, as in one would have to search far and wide within these pages to find anything that wasn't mindblowingly brilliant) is of an exclusive quality, but sometimes, not in regards to quality but influence upon the singular reader, there can be an added connection so to speak, in other words, there are parts of this poem that I could have written, had I the skill, the talent. In itself, it is a masterpiece, enormously affecting, exquisite in its simplicity, in its description. Just brilliant.
What a wonderful comment to share with my morning coffee. You are, my dear, the air in my balloon and together we rise above the chaos. :-)
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