My life is an olive press, my days are olives.
I live in sour-sweet bitterness.
Pray, linger for a pursing while,
I will taste of anchovies for you.
My thoughts ajar,
I feel trapped, so tightly packed.
Sediment lies cloying at my feet.
Inside the jar, safety, familiar glue.
Afraid to leave the jar am I.
Now you.
You taste and uplift me.
I live for a moment,
but only a moment.
Disgorged, spat out, crushed.
Alone again, future uncertain.
My life is an olive press, my days are olives.
A contest entry
- Three out of four by cricketjeff.
1300 points, ended March 28, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Without the words by Envelope.
4200 points, ended April 3, 2008, 17 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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I was hooked at the first line, and gasping by the end. Such a unique write! Congratulations on your well-deserved Silver.
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I really don't know what to say, you caught me off gaurd with the word "olive" and broke my heart right there. Either you've stalked me for a time or got lucky with that word
. Either way this was cleverly done, and so sad in a way that made me want to just read it again and again
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A beautiful metaphor and completing the "set" for my contest, all are about the same subject but are not about the same single event which was penallised in the judging, as was the freeness of you "blank" version. However a lovely set of poems and I enjoyed reading you, as I always do.
Thanks for the entries.
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