Drawing you a hot bath
I ponder displacement
of water, and wash cloth
movements. Then, I relapse as
only a drug addict can.
Tracing images on the
medicine cabinet's mirror.
Heart and arrow forevers.
Bone and dust vendettas.
A lightning storm I recall
from my childhood.
Spilling out of basin
climbing back up slick sides.
When you arrive
I mutter something about
us needing, "new towels".
Then I retreat, back
to the front room.
Knowing full well
I'm a liar, and working
from my last shadow.
You motion me to join you.
I decline out of guilt, and
fear, and love, and space.
My mind concludes
Too much weight.
For such a short time.
Your love is my
Cleansing ritual.
A buoyancy.
Author notes
Written January 6th, 2004
In a list
A contest entry
- Passion. by .
350 points, ended June 30, 2005, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 22 of 22
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A rather unique way of writing about love...I like it.
Quirky thoughts written on paper tend to make me want to read more...sort of like eating potato chips with cream cheese. Lane
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i think it is good
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There's quite a lot that I like in this poem...the slow-moving images, and some lines especially. Evocative.
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WOW!!i love it...keep it up i'll read some more
Eden -
Your books in the mail.
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I always did enjoy your love poems as much as your vulgar machismo pieces .. oh and your haikus.
How's the lad? Better?
Lisa
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spunalicious
seriously, this is one of those fucking words that never seems adequate or sincere like "brilliant" or "awesome". Really like this one a lot. Every word. -
First, a question... what does the picture have to do with the poem? Am I missing something, or is this just humor?
I don't know what to say about your poem except for that I like it, and it really makes me think. I bet I'll be picking it apart in my head all over again while laying in bed at 3am. We'll see, eh? -
LoL, I like the picture, how the helled you get it on there? I simply LOVE this poem, one of the best yet! You definetly have a way with words. The first stanza begins the poem so storng and bold. It catches my eye. Second stanza almost makes you seem innocent. 3rd, 4th and 5th were an excellent description of feelings telling a short story about your memories. The last stanza was a beautiful conclusion. I love it, great job, and good luck in my contest.
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Can't go wrong with spuna..what triggers flashbacks for me is music..stars, and shadows. And there's always this couch .. but we won't go there.. I like it ..oldfashioned as it is.. or not. Kept my attention..and I know you invite critical review, but I don't read technically ..I read emotionally .. so ..there ya go.
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WOW, I thought I would give you a second chance at impressing me. It didn't work. Well have a nice life, and I hope that your poety improves somewhere down the line.
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Hmmmmm... this one makes me go "hmmmmm."
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will do..*salutes*.....
Nyx... -
my favourite artist jean michelle basquiat used to run around newyork writing samo, and he made it up for no reason, and I did the same, are you familiar with his art.Watch the movie by julian schnabble, who's now a directo, but is also a famous painter too, From the eighties, they all sort of hung out with any warhol.
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Yah cuz i really wanna look up what either of them mean.
my day has sucked, and im too lazy to do anything other than cry. so pls, just enlighten me.
Nyx... -
Yah cuz i really wanna look up what either of them mean.
my day has sucked, and im too lazy to do anything other than cry. so pls, just enlighten me.
Nyx... -
Spuna is to horus8 what Samo was to Basquiat.
It's a way to make people ask... Well "why?" to
which I reply, "well, why knot?" Smile, you sexy Spunalator! -
Then I retreat, back
to the front room.
Knowing full well
I'm a liar, and working
from my last shadow.
--sometimes illusions are what we like to hold onto because they're safe and they wont stand there damning us for future and past failurs.
and why is it that you write Spuna on everything?
Nyx...
Edited on Jan 07, 2:42 because ''. -
brilliant.
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Glorious Moment
Love - deity of the damned, patron saint of the penultimately penurious and all others whom I dare not name in the sanctity of this house. You kept a straight face. Just an old fashioned love poem? Bluffing?
This begins with an unexpected tenderness, reverie and segues into some kind of flashback guilt trip - a retreat *INTO* the metaphor of a living room and away from the memories pushing at the back of your brain. Love can save you, but you gotta wash away the blood by removing the skin.
Another fine exhibit of your versatility, wordcraft and singing underwater. I am, as always, happy to be allowed the glimpse into those places I would not wish to tread in the flesh. These pickled words excite my neurons in ways I cannot explain. And always the mystery remains intact despite the plausible explanation.
Love the title. Your art is...well, in the eye of the beholder.
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Just an old fashioned love poem. Thank you.
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Strangeness. But good strangeness. Yeah. What else to say i don't really know. It is amazing writing, no mistakes which i can see, and a pleasure to read. And a headfull to understand. Exactly what it should be. Well done.
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