funny,
the way we cannot write the way we used to.
probably
because the moon
was once heavy
to a bulging foetus;
dove-wings trapped-
thrashing, throbbing
against the inner skin
and with this
red-white-red-white pulse
of flesh and fruit,
(the beat of woman)
words came oh-so easy, we bubbled, we surged:
by midnight we multiplied poetry-
ugly and fruitful.
but when life bursts
from the wound
(imagine the wet lips gaping, parting)
and a flare of white careens through open sky-
the struggle has ended,
the words feel meaningless again.
critique please.
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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nice, i found this quite onomonopoetic throughout, and it had a nice flow of ideas. i especially liked "words came oh-so easy, we bubbled, we surged". the end was slightly abrupt but still a strong concept.
-cassidy
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"funny,
the way we cannot write the way we used to."
^ i can relate to that.
great poem..
every stanza fits together perfectly
& also the imagrey is amazing.
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i love,love,love your opening sentence.
and your imagery is pretty darn amazing,
"a bulging foetus;
dove-wings trapped-
thrashing, throbbing
against the inner skin"
"red-white-red-white pulse
of flesh and fruit,
(the beat of woman)
words came oh-so easy, we bubbled, we surged:
by midnight we multiplied poetry-
ugly and fruitful. "
sorry, for all the copy/paste, but it really is breath-taking.
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very good
I very much identified with the message. Words haven't been flowing for me lately as they were a few weeks ago. I really liked the use of colors here.
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I like the struggling bird metaphor.
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Thanks for reading!
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