“No-one is bringing the baskets home.”
Lisa said, folding things that had become faded.
“it’s a narcoleptic mode!” I exclaimed,
squeezing a word until it popped;
“Lady,
your breasts are two little girls
clashing."
The wind
is a mischievous lad
the sheet is white haze,
a wall flailing.
the inspectors gauge the speed at each latitude;
there is mistrust on the Orient Express,
dead speech clambers uselessly about
wraps about the angeled clothespins:
the whip and pop of the angry sheet
an elder world smoothed out
beneath a shroud,
'Where is your friend
Pierre?' 'He's in Berlin,'
Are you certain?
the other side of the wall
is a flight of thought
as if the lion yawns
and falls asleep
on the folded clothes.
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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What can I say you had me hooked reading this and in my view well worthy to be called a masterpiece...Hazel
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Obscure, mysterious, arcane, with highly unusual similies and allusions--food and fodder for the contemporary versifier (Dalaney and Aanika?) a most interesting write here, no question about it!!
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wow i love it so mysterious
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Superb
A very fine, yet unique write. I think it is just fine the way it is. You have expressed your thoughts quite well, and yet, most intriguing, is that you've left a hint of mystery as to what your meaning is.
I like that. -
some reconize, others recognize, I reckon
I reckon I read --
wonder and if I wonder then I'm not certain;
shrouded within veils of mystey and you call me expired graffiti on a useless piece of wall,
a gap in the reason
and brick of "what do you mean?"
and of(f) course this and I
is not about me
at all
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I have had a beast of a day
it is lovely to come here ... read poetry and get lost inside the magic.
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Some reconize but most of us recoGnize. Go figure.
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i am so confused. it looked and sounded pretty good, but i have no idea what you were talking about. perhaps an author's note would help with an explanation?
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I reconize good words and metaphor this is what good poetry is about. I reconise these elements in your write. But what in the Hell are you trying to say. The thoughts to me are all over the place.
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This is my new favorite Lute Poem.
"Pierre was with my cousin Johan when the wall came down you know. Johan sent me a piece of it. The chunk is covered in pink spray-paint. Last time he called, Pierre he was on Potsdamer Platz going to he new Dali exhibit. He had a new modern girlfriend who shaved her eyebrows (it makes for a very strange alien-like look). Pierre always wants to be so New. Berlin is like that you know. New.
No I'm not really certain though. Pierre is a tricksey creature. He could be in the Balkans or even Andalusia having tapas with that Muslim."
By the way, it is an albino lion.
That is to say, this is about the reader's imagination - what the Reader brings to the poem. And it is fabulous. A poem I will get lost in over and over. I love your mind. I do.
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the naked civil servant!! - ooohhh yes... precise and camp too
love the sounds here. reminds me of so much
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