the net catches the remains
of old blessings
scarcely recalled in the blur
the whipped tine of crooked fingers
flashing in tune with eyes turned
to memory
a blade cutting the surface of the water
of a riverfront city
with dirt streets
the constant murmur of voices
yoked to the sunlight and dust
which settles on the listless curtains
the movement of laughter hangs
underneath the invocation
undulates the fabric
breath creates an impresario
the conductor who will feed the wave
applying color to the tone of forgotten voice
In the sudden quiet
the outstretched hand up turned flips
a rag caught in the swell churning.
In a list
A contest entry
- A Brief Illustrated History by ea.
700 points, ended April 8, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Poetry!!!!
congrats on the award.
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wonderfully evocative and poetic. This resonates with the human condition in a nicely abstract way. Thank you for this provocative entry.
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Ah. Small nuances of ancient angst ...
be it concert, museum, or rodeo ... the art of motion in song or sculpt; the water holding gondolas or boats or the leaf adrift; soft voile or chiffon or rag ... what does it matter if sun kissed dust, somewhere where lips whispered of love?
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That last image really stays with me; very effective.
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Why is it that 'culture' always goes hand in hand with smelly canals and dirty streets I wonder.
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