I
Misting up the glass,
With anticipation.
Small silent eyes are ready -
Excitement's precipitation
Announces the lust of lightening,
For a sudden sky-wide constellation.
Shrieks of pleasure, like birds at dawn.
II
Ripe as red apples,
Hands brush in the noon haze,
In repose, on garden's grass
Plump and full up with youthful laze
They taste one another's dappled eye
Under unending boughs and new-born days
Driven home as bees to honey.
III
Knotted and lined and pallid as wood
They troop alone, into the kitchen
Where worn oak frames some grandchildren,
Who still shriek at lightening.
Cost bemoaned by Adam,
Francesca replied,
"That's the price of milk..."
Comments
capoeiragem | August 4, 2008 - 11:41
Thoroughly enjoyed this. Delicious second stanza, and really strong, delicately wrought imagery throughout, evoking a light and elegantly wistful air of nostalgic remembrance.
capoeiragem | August 4, 2008 - 11:45
keleph | August 4, 2008 - 11:56
Thanks, Capoeiragem. Delighted you picked up the wistful vibe; I was really aiming for that in the last stanza especially.
Glad to see you're back here, I still remember that great stream of conciousness poem of yours from months ago!
Doeslittle | August 12, 2008 - 19:15
I was strolling back reading things I'd missed while I was away and spotted this - I think it's lovely - some great writing and turns of phrase. I'm very surprised it wasn't cherry picked, but still it's excellent in my opinion regardless. The wistful aspect is hard to conjure especially with my harsher, more dramatic tastes in imagery so I'm quite envious of this - I find the more delicate and elegant approach as Capoeiragem put it, often evades me. One thing - the repetition of shriek - was this deliberate? It jarred with me a bit, but just a small thing amongst a very nice piece.
keleph | August 13, 2008 - 23:56
Thanks, Doeslittle, I was hoping this would get more comments- yours is very much appreciated. Nice again to hear you picked up on the tone- it was painstakingly wrought. Yes, shriek was deliberate- I wanted a cyclical feel for various reasons and I felt it would throw the reader's mind back (or forward even) to the first stanza.