My mouth is dry,
hole,
like sea in sand,
disguising, dehydrated wishes,
swallowing wind,
too wild for breathing.
It is song
that heals
the hollow earth,
louder softness,
giving birth to dream in storm,
foaming frame to fever faith,
and master;
journey-man caster
to clever cleaving,
alabaster weaving, falling wave
through hour-glass feather,
conceiving khaki ground in camouflaged mistakes,
rolling thunder, as night cloud calling,
unbound to writing lost will, profound with wonder.
I have come to grow my voice,
as dormant desert, lusting mountain,
choice interpretation, measuring resistance,
as introverted persistence, moving hills
by carving veins of ink-stained inspiration
through eroding rivers,
and kaibab limitation.
I bend my fingers,
ten lost singers, sipping tea,
burnt orange zingers, brown and ageless,
with delta rising calm, and eerie sage
in peppermint contortionists,
aborting fear by speaking clearly,
this distant mirage of truth in water,
capturing distance in now of never,
where I come to hear you
closer.
Author notes
camuflaged khaki
A contest entry
- Commitment Contest #6 - INVITE ONLY by CarolDesjarlais.
1800 points, ended August 11, 2008, 4 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Stunning....awesome...the ifnerences of color..
My favorite is :"sea in sand,
disguising, dehydrated wishes,
swallowing wind,
too wild for breathing."
What a dry waltz of color of things lost and found if we examine them closely enough...or visit through your pen. -
Great imagery and alliteration.
Cool lines:
"I bend my fingers,
ten lost singers, sipping tea,
burnt orange zingers, brown and ageless"
Best of luck.
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