Indigo is the colour of silence.
You can’t read that anywhere;
you either know it or you don’t
Trill notes of floating despair
roll from a graffiti sprayed laneway;
full of puking poverty,
fetid remains.
Spears of sunset scrawl its signature
across a first floor casement window:
I stand watching like a hypnotist’s stooge.
Her floral dress peels away and she turns
placing her hands on the window sill.
Looking blankly down into fathomless loss,
small jerks
waiting for him to finish.
Meeting my gaze
there is a crushing nothingness between us.
She has been folded into arms and legs,
into strangers
who seep through her life and vanish.
Shame has no colour as I look quickly away.
Later, I stare out over the night,
glass of whiskey, thinking
“What a perve!”
Indigo is the colour of silence.
You can’t read that anywhere;
you either know it or you don’t.
A contest entry
- Dirty like this... by AJ Morelli.
3300 points, ended July 9, 2008, 18 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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The beginning is compelling. It really caught my attention. Not sure if I like "puking poverty" that much, it seems a bit overdone. The section beginning "Spears of sunset scrawl its signature" is masterful. Dark as it is, this really appeals to me. I think its quite well written. Thanks for entering.
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I like your bravery, in using an autobiographical description for your title.
I also like the grainy, cinema verite feel to the poem - it is good to see a poet who is unashamed of the sordid depths he trawls in the dark of the night of his fantasies. Perhaps this is what keeps you on the right side of sanity. Perhaps not. -
ouch; this is raw, like I'm watching something I shouldn't. lol. A great poem; I envy your command of English. You write intelligently; and I appreciate that kind of talent immensely. I'm so glad i came by to read your works
~Meg
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should this be in the adult section or am I just reading into it? If not I will not even pretend that I understand this...
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Beautiful narrative for something so stark.
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First of all I want to start by saying how much I like this... I like this a lot
"Her floral dress peels away and she turns
placing her hands on the window sill.
Looking blankly down into fathomless loss,
small jerks
waiting for him to finish."
the entire fourth stanza is extremely powerful, so much so that it makes me want to play around with the surrounding bits...
at first i thought, start the poem at "Trill notes..." but then felt the beginning you have sets a deliberate tone for this and should stay, so no crt. there...
the short internal dialog of stanza 5, i had to read a few times to like it and do now so again no crit...
the close i do have an issue with and that's due to the fact I think so highly of this poem that i feel the end just isn't strong enough to follow what preceded it, i thought maybe ending it after "perve" but i think that would be a discordant note to close on, and i do like the repetition of the indigo line after S5 but the "my thoughts..." seems disembodied from the rest of the poem for me... an unnecessary line really
perhaps repeating the entire opening could work,
"Indigo is the colour of silence.
You can’t read that anywhere;
you either know it or you don’t"
i works for me, anyway...
but you needn't change anything at all, this is a contender in the contest already...
thanks for this, sincerely
al
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and that is how you critique something!
It is interesting - I sometimes bookend my pieces with that opening stanza and close it the same way and was actually going to do it with this- and I think I still will.
but good crit, thanks
david
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Yea dirty. Gritty too. Musta been the small jerks.
One of my faves by you, lovely poetry.
Desiree
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"there is a crushing nothingness between us.
She has been folded into arms and legs,
into strangers "
funny.... I don't see a person in that..
I see the world.
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This actually made me feel dirty reading it, don't know if it was your intention to give it that feeling...but it was like a snapshot of someone's life with all the grime still apparent and someone who could see beyond it yet felt stained by it all or maybe actually had sympathy for it. Then the thought changes to almost abhorrence at feeling anything at all. I like the fact you have written this from a personal point of view for it works brilliantly that way, if it were done in the ambiguous nature of third person it would not have held so much feeling. Besides I can somehow relate to it. Love, Cheryl
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Bloody Hell David. This is what poetry should be- it plays every nucleus of every cell with a different note, just like a gumut of thoughts , feelings and emotions does. I know you are a master of language but really mate, you excelled yourself with this.
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"there is a crushing nothingness between us." That one line seemed to sum it up for me. I can't count the number of times I've gone through precisely the same thought processes but you have the ability to put your thoughts on paper that make it tangible for anyone who takes the time to read it. Good luck in the contest.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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