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evaporate

 

 

 

 

 

winter crawls inside
my blood
 
requests a burial
dressed
in tangled vein
& clay
 

 
in a place away
from the weight of rain-
 
 
whatever is opposite
to drowning

 

she does this in me

without movement
 
 
 
silent, while bone ghosts
decay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author notes

Word Count: 40

In a list

A contest entry

Please tell me what you think (Critical Honesty Appreciated)

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Comments

1 - 6 of 6

  • Randomly Beautiful
    August 14, 2008

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    requests a burial
    dressed
    in tangled vein
    & clay

    Gosh this is so how I feel lately. Hope you will check out the contest I put up.


  • apples fell
    August 12, 2008

    Edit | Reply

    I was thinking that the "in tangled vein" didn't work much for me, so I think I'm sticking with my first thoughts. I love that ending though, so very much. When I read you, I always must keep in mind that your poetry is like reflections and even though I sometimes think it feels in one direction, there is always an underbelly to the poem, a blackness that drips out...I enjoyed the poem as an expression, most certainly. Just that one line seems strange to me. Good stuff Kate.

    ;


  • zochit2me gold member
    August 11, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    Oh I love this

    the line breaks work very well in this and gives the reader a feeling of rocking gently on the water...

    Acceptance is a hard thing to do but once it is absorbed deeply and whole-heartedly, bone ghosts decay...

    Yes this is one of your best in my humble opinion.
    thank you so much for stopping and leaving me this jewel to read. So glad to see you here.

    ♥Becky♥


  • Tirrell
    August 11, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    quite beautiful!

  • Suzanne Dia
    August 11, 2008
    Edit | Reply
    i'll come back to this at home


  • ArtFullyMe gold member
    August 11, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    the line breaks ..
    work so well in this..

    you know me I'm not critical....and can't be

    so I'm simply going to leave this in return

    on the water,
    out there in the gulf
    where trade winds change place
    through convection
    and subtle exchange,
    it would seem every low
    not a waste, each depression
    an act more of balance

    against too much heat,
    a protection from death by the sun,
    an act that needs winter
    as fuel for the fire
    that keeps this blue orb spinning

    and the pressure of hollows
    spun to an eye, far from evil
    in spite of its look, only nature
    returning its course
    through the cold winter lows
    and bright summer highs

    to the temperate existence
    in which this world thrives
    in spite of the distance
    each pole would imply
    and the thing that in truth
    makes it one.




1 - 6 of 6