Some times
dayfallings in the air of the garden, the sensoria like clay it crossed her hands with an unnamed significance. She rose and looked at me, crossing our backyard's tree, staving off the dense ornamental insectlift and the sun.
Always love all the bright things in the sky.
Always long walks to augment the feeling
of having a connection with animal life.
The wildness of movement rings out raging, but never to a halt.
Here, the will is properly repudiated. Fallow.
Dust kicks up from the ground without destination,
strikes like aphasia.
I - consigned to the silence
a maiden set on her last strand,
her flight through historicity
like unnoticed withdrawal from a timeline;
she, clad shiny in wetwhite stones and pearlred,
and unerring portent -
breathed little, stood and absorbed;
beheld, but did not reflect;
wept, but hadn’t known why -
as her last hanging veil of clothing
dropped to the ground
like a ship plummeting through an airy gyre,
wood of holes catching the currents to softly moan.
She said:
All the heavenly stars and hills converge in our heads.
A contest entry
- In Conversation with by NurseChilly.
1400 points, ended June 15, 2008, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Daringly romantic and quite beautiful.
Lisa
-
i love love the last lines... veils of clothing fallen and softly lit and then the stars and scenery converge to make one..
very nice indeed.... many thanks for entering this contest
G.x
-
I liked the last line the most, it makes me think, and the imagery of it really paints a good picture. Nice job on this, a little long, but good.
Adding your comment:
