Hold my scab in palm, so tender,
what it is
that renders thought;
tear taught to tear,
tormenting smile,
those fruits of passion,
now inedible.
I find this focus of point,
incredible ink,
like spreadable limbs
to answer passion
in blasé blush of anemic embrace,
staying wall to unanswered stars.
I am not to blame,
when root is rye
to memory, dryer,
these higher contradictions,
conflicting fire that sire loneliness,
moaning mess,
confessing thirsty sighs of almost crying.
And so I offer my desert fig,
as fruitful filling of harvest,
hollow,
swallow slowly,
until the moment that I am,
remembers love in you.
In the end, I trust this day of sigh to feather
my last sweet taste of us,
together.
In a list
A contest entry
- fig(ure) it out by Nicolette.
2200 points, ended October 7, 2008, 16 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I sit in a room full of people, trying not to cry
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This is indeed a sigh poem; one that pulled at my heart strings and moved mountains inside me. Such a beautiful sadness here, that somehow reminds me of the line from a song "that glorious sadness"...
I loved the offering of a "desert fig"...somehow shriveled, like one in autumn, the taste of love's sweetness still lingering. Beautiful poetry, Rich..wonderfully tender, great use of alliteration and metaphor... this one touched me.
Thank you for entering it in my contest, poet-friend.
~ Nicolette
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a sigh poem - Rich, this is so beautifully sad. I love how you used the prompt of a fig as the gift of one last day of sweet love.
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"staying wall to unanswered stars."
Such a tender ache of a penning this is, dear Scribe.
Beautifully written, sorrowfully understood.
Good luck in Nic's contest, my Friend.
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