The sun spasms
across our eyelids,
road strung
between precipices.
We drown
in slumber-scents,
stale air,
and static.
Every heavy motor churn
tears us
bittersweetly
from home.
Behind us,
a dark trail
of old salt.
A contest entry
- Image-driven poetry by micol.
600 points, ended August 30, 2007, 8 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Short, tight, precise, with a compressed stanzaic form that emphasizes the essentially imagistic nature of the piece. Add to that meticulously handled sound patterning between and within the stanzas, and the poem impels use from opening line to dark, bitter conclusion. Thank you for entering.
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It seems to me that different scenarios could have ultimately been the cause of the need to leave 'home.' You can really imagine a story out of these well crafted words, after a vivid picture of a car driving down a desert road immediately comes to mind.
This is really well done, it gives the imagery and basis of a story for the reader to take and run with.
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