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| Open Poetry #1 |
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grandiloquent Member
since 1999-07-08
Posts 104Midwest America |
This is a little jumbled (even in comparison to most of what I write); so be attentive, and if need be, read twice. We had fireworks. Not just morning glories and artillery shells, or even New York seascapes with the dazzle burning in the water. No, we had the Grand Fourth, in Falmouth, Kentucky, with lightening bug glitter dusted over the trees and heat lightening threatening over every horizon. Me, standing knee deep in the back pond; breathless, crying, circling endlessly to take it all in – panorama of the show of three towns and hundreds of redneck, patriotic neighbors shouting sparks in the air for six straight hours. And the cicadas from layers and layers of farms swarmed in the harmony of shrieks, roars, and electrified crackle. No pauses, just brightness, burning, then the thunder of approaching storms. I blinked, unable to breathe when there was Too much beauty. Like coming up over a garbage dump to find the Himalayas guarding the stark contrast of grey sky, the stinking heap of rust rags and oil. And dropping your jaw and hands in witness, shock, and awe. I know it, I understand that insufferable perception. I was there to see you when you spoke and turned my head, my heart, my soul like an easy key. I learned to breathe acid, to accept the Himalayas. So you see, when we built the impossible, when I turned my eyes to you in the night and touched your face just to be sure, just to let my skin know, “Yes, he is there.” Well, that was more than everything. And now, with the empty curve of my hands curling into fists in the night when I wake up hearing you, and turn to remember that you’ve left two years ago. . . Then I sense the touch of things around me grinding to a halt. My breath thins and I close my eyes picturing what does not seem real: The crest of those impossible mountains, the taste of the snow in the air; your impish grin teaching me all hope, all despair. And I walk my simple footsteps, checking all the eyes around me for the light I’ve seen in mine -- just the trace of that unattainable discovery. I look over shoulders, street signs, car lanes, Looking for a face or just the feel… [This message has been edited by grandiloquent (edited 07-25-99).] |
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| © Copyright 1999 Megan - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
Twice? I will read it more than twice, and be more impressed with each reading. Still in awe. |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
As you know, I'm a great admirer of your work on the Adult Forum and now this superb poem here. I look forward to reading more from you. There is imagery and imagination in each line! |
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Delores Hall Member
since 1999-07-16
Posts 342USA |
Well written.I like your style.Happy writing. |
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poetFemmeFatale Member Elite
since 1999-07-25
Posts 2646Arkansas |
Absolutely lost me there for a minute - yes, I read it several times to let it soak in ! Wow...I'd love to read your poetry in the Adult Forum...Most of my poetry is Erotic, but I've yet to figure out who I must be to get in there!! Any tips? Most of my stuff is too juicy for this forum...Hope to hear from you!! Keep up the good work....I'll try to keep up with your deep intelect!!  ------------------ - poet FemmeFatale "The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone..." Henrik Ibsen (1826-1906) Norwegian dramatist lyric poet |
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