Squeezing blood from beatings:
my once-mechanical organ
streaks your palms plum
as you re-attempt resuscitation.
Your fire: a scarlet flag
dancing past danger;
trembling in the breath of the bull.
The crowds clutch at their throats...
Moves like red, your love,
from green to crimson
cries of stop. My battered brakes
are accidents waiting to happen.
You are a slipping sun:
an anti-climax splashing crimson
as I trip towards your horizon.
Your red moves -
- receding to nothing.
A contest entry
- moves like red by Cat.
650 points, ended November 11, 2007, 19 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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this is a lovely piece, with some lovely lines... i agree with mary about the capitalization of STOP...
al -
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Thank you, Cat and AJ Morelli, for the comments. Yes, I've looked at the poem again and I've come to agree with you. I appreciate the suggestion
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there are some really really good moments in this poem.. 'streaks your palms plum" is one of those-
there are also a couple spots i think the piece could benefit from not having "stop" is one of those..
overall a good write that i'm pleased to find haunting this contest.. thank you so much -
sorry
did not understand at all -
this sounds like a rejected lover
i liked the line, 'you are a slipping sun' going, going, gone type of feeling. some relationships just need to sink into the horizon, yes?
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Most definitely
Thank you for the comment, I really appreciate it!
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