The tap keeps dripping
in some distant memory,
catching the moment
with bare hands and a full heart.
I lean back against yesterday
envisioning romance novels
and that kiss you used to bring,
building me up like a mound of dreams.
I'm still there
somewhere
laying in a pile of wishes,
hoping you'll remember the song
they played in white November.
I miss your sound
the expressions of a man ~
I hold my head;
silence in deafening.
A contest entry
- "Talking in Bed" -- a poem by Philip Larkin by truembrace.
600 points, ended August 12, 2007, 11 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
this is indeed lovely. so many vivid images and has such a solid flow to the poem. there's just something about this poem that really draws me in with its clear verses and crisp images.
thanks so much for entering this contest and best of luck in the judging.
Kim -
I wanted this to go on and on, it flows beautifully and there's still a story to tell ... absolutely fab!
-
Amazing
Thanks for sharing another powerful weaved piece here...
You sure have great poetic skills, and I enjoy reading you..
Peace, Timothy
-
beautiful...
absolutely amazing!
I love the lines:
"hoping you'll remember the song
they played in white November."
wonderful imagery... a fluid, flawless flow to this piece
the words and ideas composing this piece are just lovely...
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