Molten whippoorwill
grey feet on my windowsill,
momentarily your words are lacking
and at once
I am the moment.
Right now,
you are the blood in grandfather's hands,
right now
you actually feel the rain.
That white dress shows
the delicate spreading of your thighs-
modern art,
sculpture really.
She is still swimming
and you are the only man-
you split your time,
quite unfairly,
quite unreasonable thoughtful
between her and your t-shirt tan lines.
Each breast hangs a little lower
but for the weight
of so many stares,
and they fall tragically
like twin towers
or mildly rotten raspberries,
but you still call it and golden age
and somewhere
are a shameless nudist-
glass shoes in the sand
and you tell me that abstract
is slightly more your style.
It is not that we scorn your normalcy,
but your bitfully unwelcome
smiles.
Author notes
Forgot I'd written this. It's a bit random, but I kind of like it.
A contest entry
- Guaranteed Comments! by Nam.
425 points, ended October 23, 2007, 72 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
"but you still call it and golden age" - I feel that the use of "and" would be "a". "but you still call it a golden age". If "and" is in place of "an", "an" doesn't work 'less there's a vowel starting the next line, or a consonant that sounds like a vowel, like "h" or "y".
There's a lot of imagery in this poem, I didn't really care for the "tan t-shirt" part but it was an image, and there's a plethora of imagery. It's not 'til the end that the imagery is sort of pushed aside, and something else is written but then it ends. I felt that perhaps that could use some work, perhaps adding a few more lines in the same sort of breath.
Overall: great imagery but I think the ending needs work.
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