“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all of thy might?”
Shakespeare, Sonnet, C
the bitch in torn britches,
stitched in smooth satin,
a breach in the defences
the ghost of picket fences,
the fawns gather quietly
there is a hint of rain upon the leaves.
A lovers’ quarrel.
Leave it at that,
there in the cold
waiting for night to fall
and the stars to burn
the hearts with heated words-
he said she said they said
till dawn with restless hands
and the seams broke
and spoke instead,
giving Beauty one more name
in the chances of the Game.
Author notes
For Katya,- & the Bear.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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sound complete. words tight fit. like a light bulb can only fit in one socket. you have a pattern of sentence sound like Hemmingway - like E.E. Cummings but with a little more adornment. very nice. must confess, I will have to go back and read the sonnet C. thank you
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p.s. I don't rate poems - applause is applause.
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the bitch hitches her britches, jumps the ditch, his
heart would be starburnt forever
The poem sings.
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This is very intriguing. So simple, so deep. And I love the title. And the torn britches, that's just a great image.
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It is so beautiful.
there in the cold
waiting for night to fall
and the stars to burn
the hearts with heated words-
All is so beautiful. I am drowning with the words.
You know Stefan he sometimes sit and make patchwork, he say it makes him calm when he is all unnecessary - I don't know what the patchwork is for,he just display it on dioramas and show the children at the museum about it sometimes, and throw it over beds in the house and whatever. He make different designs, different shapes all tessalated. I say, Stef, why do you cut up fabric to sew it together again?
And he says, Niki, why do you?
Thank you Lute- I am so honoured by the author's note.
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Another Mistake it seems
You know, I'm feeling a bit neglected. I have a contest about Beauty going on. And This Seems to be about Beauty and also, Bear wrote a poem which also seems to be about Beauty and neither This Particular Poem or the Bear's Particular Poem make appearance in my Contest.
harmpf. Suppose my trophies are tainted or something.
Howsomever, This Particular Poem my New Favorite Lute Poem.
Also, you should Write More.
I like this part the best:
the bitch in torn britches,
stitched in smooth satin,
a breach in the defences
the ghost of picket fences,
the fawns gather quietly
there is a hint of rain upon the leaves.
A lovers’ quarrel.
Leave it at that,
there in the cold
waiting for night to fall
and the stars to burn
the hearts with heated words-
he said she said they said
till dawn with restless hands
and the seams broke
and spoke instead,
giving Beauty one more name
in the chances of the Game
(I bad at the Game though, sigh).
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