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Open Poetry #48
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the carried whispers of the yards broken heart
| Open Poetry #48 |
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the carried whispers of the yards broken heart |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
She wore a velvet scarf around her neck like the quiet corn rows that bristled against the winds push as the backdrop of the grey fog led up to the glass house they lived in. He use to sit by the den fire burning, mirroring back into his brown, bloodshot eyes whisky, neat The living rooms quiet, cream wallpaper as the leather reclining chair pushed its leg stand open so he could sit and stare like the never-ending hallways that stared behind him In the small right side of his pant pocket he always carried with him a small piece of her black cotton, fabric sweater the one she tore off as she hung too closely to the screen front door That scent that unbelievable, majestic scent each morning it aired itself more and more onto the frontside of her pillow and he would press it against his nose cradling the white linens that had her eyes abreast with his running their hands through each others hair until he lightly nicked the bottom of her lip reminding her it was time for breakfast Every morning, He would walk through the light skinned hallways before the kitchen pantry doors the island that lay in the middle granite countertops, spotless before the french doors of the marble statue that felt the lonely whispers of a mans gentle whimper Every evening he stood in front of those french doors with memories, like memoirs, of summer afternoons where she use to dry their damp clothes on the clothesline, soaking in the warm, June sun In her favorite white blouse from hanger to hanger, with her bare feet moving through the thin, dry grass often becoming the soft fabric of his watchful smile as her golden, brown hair rested along her back as the day bid a gentle ode to the days end Each day he hoped the day would forgo the night but as wind moved, so did time so he sadly nodded and retired to his bedroom another afternoon soon to follow whispers from the yard following him through the light, skinned hallways. [This message has been edited by Tomer (12-28-2012 02:12 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2012 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
Victoria
since 2000-08-12
Posts 5869 |
*with her bare feet moving through the thin, dry grass often becoming the soft fabric of his watchful smile as her golden, brown hair rested along her back as the day bid a gentle ode to the days end* Very touching and heartwarming Tomer. ~Victoria~ Life is a great big canvas-Throw all the paint on it you can. |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
Tomer, the whole poem breathes his pain and his need to hold on to his exquisite memories, more and more with each line - but I found the beauty of the last 2 stanzas so palpable and his anguish in them almost too much to bear and they have me typing in slow motion and I almost forgot to breathe. Owl |
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ebonygirl Member Elite
since 2011-07-14
Posts 2000California U.S.A |
Enjoyed your poem, Tomer. Ms. E |
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EmmaRose Senior Member
since 2011-03-02
Posts 1376Midwest |
truly this is poetry in motion at its finest |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Victoria- Happy you enjoyed that stanza. Appreciate the kind support. Hope you're well Cheers Tomer |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Owl- I'm happy the last two stanzas struck such a chord with you. I guess I succeeded in my storytelling....hope you're breathing again?! Take care. Cheers Tomer |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Ms. E- Happy you took a liking to it. Hope you're doing well. Cheers Tomer |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Emma- Appreciate the fine comment; it means a lot. Happy you enjoyed it so much. Cheers Tomer |
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