I lie in a foetal fold,
Still born, still as a pillar,
A cold heavy stone,
Unmoved by my existence
Slow eyes roam to find a connection,
My stamp of identity in the empty objects around me,
Seeking understanding
In the pages of books, in the picture of the nude woman
Pinned to the wall
Until I am
A fist of poppies exclaim on my desk,
Their angry red shouts in this muted space
And force me into feeling;
An ache of somewhere else.
Full of dying life
Their green stems bend in defeat.
Outside, sick leaves thick with old rain
Stick to a numb ground,
Bruised and useless.
The light is difficult, a brash intrusion,
I close the blind on the day,
Too grey, already read,
A tired repeat.
The poppies call your name,
And I remember you like a wound,
A gaping absence,
Ellipsis cracks
An ugly smile,
Its toothless grin mouths me in,
The black gap roars
Comments
Mangone | January 9, 2010 - 21:07
I was going to say "Roll on Summer" until I re-read and noticed 'Outside, sick leaves thick with old rain'
Today seems to be poppy day and the icy grey weekend weather seems to beg rememberance of a dead Summer.
I hope your loss is less now and that time continues to heal.
sabzwin | January 9, 2010 - 22:22
I liked the poem x
Silver Spun Sand | January 9, 2010 - 23:04
"A fist of poppies exclaim on my desk,
Their angry red shouts in this muted space..."
Just a couple of my favourite lines in this, rather special, poem.
Tina
MistakenMagic | January 10, 2010 - 00:51
Brilliant poem! I'm in love with your imagery, especially:
'Outside, sick leaves thick with old rain
Stick to a numb ground,
Bruised and useless.'
Poppies also happen to be my favourite flower so this was a treat to read! I get a whiff of Sylvia Plath from your work - have you read anything of hers?
Magic xxx
Mangone | January 10, 2010 - 16:15
I'm quite surprised that this quite stunning piece hasn't been cherried yet... I'm sure it is only a matter of time.
Nathan Bednarek | January 11, 2010 - 01:47
The imagery you use and the way you phrase the lines in this poem reminds me of Sylvia Plath. You have a way of describing things that are familiar to us in a slightly surreal way, making the poem that much more effective as it encourages the reader to really focus on the amazing craftsmanship in this poem and helps to appreciate its intellect and beauty. A very good poem and one that I will remember. A big well done from me.
Nathan.
Mangone | January 13, 2010 - 11:39
Winter with its cold, grey, grip
Blankets colour in icy slip
Bland and bored stem barren and bleak
Faith is frozen, will is weak
Yet hope survives the season’s chill
Sunny memories pay the bill
Endure the empty days until
Spring returns - it always will!
Cavalcaderl | January 13, 2010 - 22:48
new julie x cavalcader
yes, I to hope time and healing
will begin.oh! well done on cherry! I see, great poem to write of
sad difficult time, must be for you.
julie