She moves like Eve rising from dust,
glint of her eyes teasing the sun.
She undulates in birthings of her own,
streaming from her womb in a thousand
trickles back to where she, herself was born.
Her blues and greens of veil hide her mysteries
so we can only guess, what roils and toils
beneath her moody surface. Shadows,
like furrows on a brow of a woman with a broken rib
show she is not settling well. She may have swallowed
something whole that did not sit right with her
when night pulled his covers over her tepid forehead.
This morning, I know his name and that she took him
like a lover. Now she is sorry for it. He rustles beneath
her ribs like an unborn son.
Author notes
Nature
The lake swallowed a writer friend here in Maine. I wrote an honor poem to him earlier this month. It still haunts me.
In a list
- Yank of Angst • next in list
- Allpoetry Book Project: One • next in list
- Gold Poetry • next in list
- the Nature Of Things • next in list
A contest entry
- Poetry Is Written Life by Marissa Ann Scott.
450 points, ended February 1, 2007, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Excellent
This is a superb peice. Your diction was at a perfect level. Not simplistic and yet not overly flowery either. The language comes alive with meaning. Your use of allegory was flawless. I am old-fashioned and believe that a poem without imagery is lifeless. Your imagery layered so much meaning onto the message of your poem while also giving it such a timeless quality.
Visually stunning. -
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Thank you, again. I sort through my life with words, like some sort socks. *smiles* Writing is as important to me as anything I have ever done. I am glad the images and meanings came through.
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Correlated
I like the allusion to Eve and the way in which this piece has a constant steady flow (which by the way matches the repetition evident in your background - I found this a nice effect and correlation in presentation). Your words really do highlight that idea of something haunting you. The final line is quite stark and telling of your piece as a whole - it rings in a beat all of its own. Thank you very much for being true and for being you. Anthony. -
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Yes, almost knowing...almost like a light that does not light all the wy up...
You are indeed an important reader to me pen friend.
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