I.
The skies were grey the day
A white veil hung on my dresser
The flowers on the table were freshly-picked
From the garden, deprived of its roses
The glass is still half-full
A morning sliver of moon peaked through
The silver scrying bowl of the fortune teller
She wished me to smile and carry her gold tooth
For luck, in the coming trials, she said
I did not understand her, and threw the tooth
Away in the garden, at first light.
II.
The ring embraces my stout finger like a cat's tail
Warm and alive, your golden eyes
Charming and distracting me from beastly jaws
These talons and claws you hide from me
With silky whispers...
I wished for diamonds and you gathered suns
And placed them in your purse, priceless stars you said
And spoke to me of wealth, but love is kept
Like a trinket, together with jangling coins
I do not know you, only your money...
You kept me in a cage, a white dove
Whose wings are clipped with silver trappings
My heart is frail and small like a bird
With a broken voice, I cry
But silence rings like a deathknell
In the mansion we once called home.
III.
There are whispers in the corridors
I cannot imagine them to be ghosts
What haunts me most is my own soul
Full of half-empty dreams
Where is the light? Draw the curtains please, Maria.
The Virgin looks after me and my own
I pray, I pray
But in truth, I am already anticipating the worst.
IV.
The fortune teller has returned for her tooth
I go into the garden and find it in the clutches
Of a little bird slain by the housecat
I frown at this...waste...injustice...
I envy my tears their escape
The old woman carried them away in her worn thumb
She came to tell me that the moon had cried too,
In her silver scrying bowl, the night before my wedding day.
I gave her the tooth and told her to leave
Maria handed me a glass of water in a silver tray
I laughed mirthlessly, the glass is full yet empty
Empty...and I lock myself in the house all day.
Where is the light? Draw the curtains please, Maria.
The Virgin looks after me and my own
I pray, I pray
But in truth, I am already anticipating the worst.
There are whispers in the corridors
I cannot imagine them to be ghosts
What haunts me most is my own soul
Full of half-empty dreams
Love is a wasteland, and I am now an empty shell.
Author notes
For the benefit of Dragonsblood: this isn't a gold-winning piece. Instead, it got accepted in round 1 of D P Robertson's 'contest': Do You Want to Get Published. Other than that, I haven't entered this in any other contest until now.
This is merely an experiment. Not the best of me, I feel. But I wanted to explore love--it's really a great subject under the right circumstances. My goal for now is to learn to be dispassionate in writing about love.
This isn't my first "love" poem, but it would be my first attempt at broadening my horizons with regards to this diverse, multi-faceted theme. The whole concept of the exercise is inspired by Anthony Burgess' "Inside Mr. Enderby", from Chapter 3:
"Enderby's attitude to love-poetry was dispassionate, impersonal, professional. The worst love-poems, he had always contended, were the most sincere: the lover's palpitating emotions -- all too personal, with an all too particular object -- all too often got in the way of the ideal, the universal. A love-poem should address itself to an idea of a loved one. Platonism could take in ideal breasts, an ideal underarm odour, an ideal unsatisfactory coitus, as well as the smooth-browed intellectual wraith of the old sonneteers."
Written September 25th, 2005
In a list
A contest entry
- Impressions of Gold by Dragonsblood.
300 points, ended March 3, 2006, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
-
Thanks very much Brian, for at least giving this a much-needed critique.
Best of luck to you and David.
-
I have to say 'no' for this contest. It's very well written
and conforms with the exercise you've described. -
shortlisted
-
Thanks. I think that I'm a work-in-progress still in many ways. I felt this one came out raw...possibly half-baked. I've yet to learn many many things about writing poetry, and writing in general... Thanks for your supportive words.
-
Excellent
There is so much I love about this poem! Very well written. Dispassionate? Hmmm...interesting concept when dealing with the subject of love. I felt alot of different emotions when reading this, not piercing..but deep nonetheless. Thank you, I really enjoyed it. I loved the imagery presented here.
-
Thanks for the applause, but I was kind of hoping you would enlighten me on your thoughts about this really. I didn't understand your comment, no offense. I appreciate that you thought this was an okay work, and I am smiling bemusedly now at your obscure praise of my working vocabulary. But, really, I don't understand what you're asking of me. What is it really that you think I think is missing??
-
Okay
The work is nice, the vocabulary is Okay...what do YOU think is missing. -
makes me wonder
wow way above my talent, lost me there. -
awesome write
wow this was very good and deep much in joyed.. well done. thank you for sharing you words with me. great job.
Adding your comment:
1 - 9 of 9
1 old applause
