colours in the mind: quantum songs
spinning as they hunt a snatch of melody,
a point of breath, a phrase
the jigsaw finds a puzzle
to play at hide-and-seek with:
it floods the shafts of present with a
wild pastiche of words – rocks rearranging into
something ugly, awkward, almost...
with moving lips, i chip
and rub until the moon, my sleeve,
dims against the dawn:
the second line kicks,
emerges with a new-born baby’s wail –
at birth, no-one is alone
and nothing is impossible
Author notes
The relentless pursuit of perfection (or how to get a headache without really trying).
In a list
A contest entry
- when poetry happens by Dienush.
1250 points, ended July 13, 2008, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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Wow, this poem is full of very original imagery. I love how vividly you describe the process of writing a poem, even though this wasn't exactly what my contest theme was. This is beautiful. Thanks for your entry
~Diana
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My goodness sir, how I love your poetry.
"with moving lips, i chip
and rub until the moon, my sleeve,
dims against the dawn:"
These lines in particular stirred within me, helping me to find my way through the muddle of thought and emotion to the birthing of written words.
What a beautiful way for poetry to 'happen'.
Excellent work - as I have come to expect from your brilliant pen. Ahhhh. yes... ~Pamela 
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Well my muse moves my rocks a lot! Sometimes maybe a little too much. A poem, being delivered like a newborns first wail...interesting! You never cease to amaze me my friend. Glad to see your muse is back though! ~Sie
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Oh this is most delightful and witty, the true essence of what all poets sometimes struggle with, well done and all the best in the contest!
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MJ...Your comment was hilarious...Oh this is whitty! ~Sie
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