We taught ourselves to look out to sea
Lathered in ochre scented winds
You dropped ice cream on the tar-mac
I laughed not understanding you.
Ash wings they bleated out salty songs
Their talons heavy grimy tallow
Reminded someone that I was here
I poured the sand from my boot.
Arctic turns turned like grey urns
The bronze carpet parted beneath
The white toes of our feet.
Comments
skinner_jennifer | September 27, 2011 - 11:27
Hi spartarcad,
wonderful...descriptive piece, full of the smells
and tastes of the seaside.
Thankyou for sharing.
Jenny.
spartarcad | September 27, 2011 - 12:03
Hello Jennifer
'Birds in their nest on a stormy night' this poem I read not so very long ago, this line "its lucky birds don't get vertigo" amused me, implication and consequence!
I usually don't reply, out of some misguided attempt to be 'edgy' and 'willow-the-wisp' - esque, but your warm praise aroused my ego and I am powerless!
I am determined to read more of your work!
Peter!
skinner_jennifer | September 27, 2011 - 15:02
Thankyou kindly Peter.
Jenny.
simonbarget (not verified) | October 4, 2011 - 15:24
I really like some of your stuff, have read a bit.
Humble regards,
S
simonbarget (not verified) | October 4, 2011 - 15:25
I really like some of your stuff, have read a bit.
Humble regards,
S