He spilled his last stash across her ailing frame -
her name had found a home upon his lips,
there were clips of eternal figures dancing
on a screen the size of San Francisco where
they'd watch what happened before they
ever knew one another.
She capsized with a spectacular splash -
dashing his copious control on rock shoals
beneath them both - the elliptical trade of
arrangement strangled them stone cold together.
She weighed her soul against his feathered air
before she staked her claim. He came up lame
on the other side of an unmistakable dawn,
limping into her sunrise as she rose like a new
ball of sapphire in a ruby mine.
© Nublin’s Pub, 2009
Author notes
See, Fricka C.? Hey, all you hippies - if you're goin' to San Francisco, make sure you wear some flowers in your hair...
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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profound.great write!i love the picture too-shows eternity.
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Ok, i know you're talented...but your avatar, makes me curious about your eyes. SMILE!
Love the write!
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lost my eyes in an ice cream accident. I'm all teeth now! CHEEEZZ!
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she danced in your moonlight when the frost covered the moon we heard the howling but called it pretty names click click click and we all looked for home
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Happy New Year my friend! I love the sculpture, is this your pic? With his last breath he reaches out to touch and protect the love that touched his lips. I find the sculpture so romantic. Your words a perfect marriage. I do so love the way you think, even more the way you articulate your thoughts. I wonder what inspired a sculpture such as this.
A most enjoyable read that catches your breath and leaves you with a sigh as you exhale
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Hey there Shell ~ not my pic, one I found to accompany my poem. wished I knew more about it. Thanks for the more than kind comments. Peace, and get fine in '09. ~ Ed
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one of your most beautiful...I will find the movie...
"she weighed her soul against his feathered air..."
and so she did and so she will always
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frisko disco
saints preserve us! i like all the falling, and hard ore mining that is love eternal and at the end of the tunnel the small light that shines in the darkness becomes a new dawn. st. francis would approve. -stashfish
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well, Stockholm was full and all the hash in Peru had all been smoked - here's to st. frank...
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"her name had found a home upon his lips," -- love that...
always a trip, Ed...wonderful poetry
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Made me sneeze when I wrote it...thanks for chimin' in...
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How can you lie so still? All day I watched
and never a blade of all the green grass moves
to show where restlessly you toss and turn
and fling a desperate arm or draw up knees
stiffened and aching from long disuseBetter it is to walk, to run, to dance
to laugh and leap and sing
to know the open skies of dawn and night
to move untrammeled down the flaming noon
and I will clamour through weary days
keeping the edge of deprivation sharp
nor with the pliant speaking on my lips
of resignation, brother to defeat...
I'll not be patient... I will not lie still...Fricka knows... C.
PS. Thank you...
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Sounds like a helluva bash... New Years right..??? Looks like the waste cases above could use a bouquet the brighten up the scenery now that that red and blue glow has died down... You always make me smile!!!
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