Night
Night is artist in this place, slowly
blackening all, even bush, with her
oil stains on canvas
Island
of bold strokes beneath smeared clouds,
lingering coloured;
clotted blood on burst bud cotton fields.
Night is an artist in this place, fanning
Strokes of spectral fires, many candleflies,
Those unseen wings passing Flame on in
dipped-brush splatters painted aglow.
Night is the artist in this place, rubbing
pastels into the Dawn we have come to know.
By
Marissa A Scott.
A contest entry
- 24 Hour Contest---Enter Fast by WhollySurrendered.
475 points, ended March 17, 2007, 33 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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bravo
Neat and very, very nifty poem with a wonderful poetic voice and diction...fine, fine (I think you may have left out an "an" in the first line.) bravo...bravo..bravo...
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Thank u! Glad u liked it.
And nooope, an "an" wasnt left out. The wording was quite deliberate. Each first sentence is slightly different to add movement in the poem.
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i love night, your poem did her justice. she is an artist.
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Thank you.
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