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A home without a wall, |
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| How to Join | Member's Area | Private Library | Search | Sanctuary | Login | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Main Forums | Discussion | Tech Talk | Mature Content | Archives |
A home without a wall, |
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| Open Poetry #11 |
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Tired hands no longer function... |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA 
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Tired hands no longer function. Winter. Windows blurred with snow. We’re alone. No where to go. Thus begins our first attraction. From the tea, hot vapor’s rising, Weaving over manuscripts. Like two magnets, eager lips Find each other, -- energizing. Throw my poems in the furnace! Dormant flames shall rise and eat... Words are fruitless, -- heat, more heat! Flames arise, so bright and nerveless! Touch me gently. Softly whisper, “Let me love you, while the ice Screens our windows from their eyes.” I adore you, Life!-- My sister. Check out my poetry here: http://cafepoetry.com/stage1/andrey_kneller.htm#My%20Hamlet |
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| © Copyright 2000 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Don't you dare be throwing your poems in the furnace! Very nicely written, Master! Denise |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA |
Thanks Denise, and I have all my poem saved on my computer, so I would have to throw the whole computer into the furnace and I don't that that's safe. Glad you liked the poem. Thanx |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA |
The last line is an allusion to a collection of poetry by Pasternak, titled "My sister-Life." Just so you know... |
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