Cross bares wall to show its root
as wave in art, so misbegotten,
when fingers arc
in torching tempest,
while tracing skin in pillow talk
to page much whiter,
without a meter,
and eyes stare blank in frozen letter,
hanging head too limp to focus.
Where lies word, in way to love,
when every judge
is Jester’s jury
chasing shadow
to spell charade
as laugh at law
in living desert?
We have shed archaic armor
to gather flowers in our dungeon,
drinking blood
that drips from ceiling,
spinning fan to count in hours,
a less than lively form of rhythm.
So cut the cord,
and feel in freedom,
a terror
rising with the morning,
as such a shock in bonded beauty,
waking to the eastern sunshine,
cracked in cleavage,
sipping shadow,
blinded by the truth in telling,
of what once was
to know epiphany.
Then, draw you pen,
and joust with evil, lying dormant,
as silent fingers,
splitting block
without a stoke
to sound in yelp,
those first few sounds
of art creating.
And so it goes,
as blood will out,
when fire veins in pumping organ,
the blush in genius raging forward,
as line builds cone
to rise before you,
until erection spurts in flame,
from ancient rooftops
of wind swept chimney.
A contest entry
- Free Verse...But by masterblaster.
390 points, ended April 15, 2007, 28 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Congratulations
Truly this is a work of art and so deserving of recognition in this contest. A complete pleasure to read and enjoy. Congratulations on your award. Deserving of this and much more. ~Pamela
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Hi, a very good write, unique, it was a pleasure read, so many takes on a pic, facinating what people see in a pic, I hope to get this comp judged on Sunday, so many great poems and this is great, all the best in the comp,hugs Di
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greatness inspired
This one shows for me what is expected of free verse, and is a prime example for classic introduction, this one is a piece of master oration.
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this is chilling, i got goosebumps...
art
art
art
never fear the inner demons that lie in wait for morning light, instead embrace all that you are, and once were, using unremembered ancient knowledge gathered throughout times forgotten to speak with wounded word upon pages staring blankly, bleakly and share the art with which words and worlds create, from you, this human vessal of soul contained.
-
heart of flame
exume
ancient tomb
where custom buries
every living treasure
to hold in faulty hand
should soulwing waver
cold confines of death
where nothing breathes
the airless flume
not even
echo
fly
sweet pinion,
wing to feather
unsinged windsongs
measure ether, names
bloom of rose,
forge golden letter,
root burning bush
in flames
forever
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