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Dark Poetry #3
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The calm, drowning soreness
| Dark Poetry #3 |
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The calm, drowning soreness |
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svandersaar Junior Member
since 2001-01-15
Posts 40 |
"I hate the rain," you say. small, careless words they enfilade the inside of my brow with tenacious recall: the beloved, beloved storms of my homeland huddling to a great twisted oak under thunder’s eruption and kissing and kissing and kissing the solace of blankets and steam at my windows; of tea, and pleasured memories: their light sorrow. And I, wanting always, someone to discover the sadness of me (its emergence swarms of convolutions, as weather crimps the air); join its texture to the skin of their understanding, like a finger to honey, tasting the saccharine thickness, and recognizing, then, my richness. So when tears varnish my eyes, and my heart is warm and sinking, they will know the twists at the corners of my mouth cup woe with affection. This, I can tell them, this is the true tenderness in me. California – concrete deserts noxious and dull -- has made me hate the sun. Rows of perfect blazing light week by week; how sick am I of illumination: exacting lines of asphalt, straight buildings and glaring chrome from the sunwashed cars, the mad white circle of reflection's magnifying glass. What I would give for one hysterical monsoon: lighting, fog, and danger ... God, for rain the cover of grey and sullenness. How bright the memories: I would sit, my hand out the window soaking my fingertips, thrilling at the delicate stings of drops, lips smiling that precious, painful smile, chest beating with an ache and swelling, balmy. Loneliness is fullness. Melancholy means, at last, I am whole. But now, it feels mocking, trying to capture my inner devotion with anything but shadow softness. And you are as blinding as these obdurate, bleaching afternoons. But, unknowing -- and hating to see me unhappy -- you shine brighter, cower me, trying so hard to give me life. I stretch up to the warmth of you begging, my roots have shriveled, my body crinkling with dry, with starvation, with incredible burning thirst… This is a new pain for me not at all the wet sweetness of heather clouds: the calm, drowning soreness of my gentleness, of my taciturn self-love. Instead, it is shrieking, raw and biting: a shrinking. A screaming agony, instead of quiet torment. I am waning, the heat of you on my face making me smile something not at all empty, but not of myself. And I dream, as I become dust, of greater deaths, of watercolor prose smeared and soggy. [This message has been edited by svandersaar (edited 08-20-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 Stacey Vandersaar - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Severn Member Rara Avis
since 1999-07-17
Posts 7704 |
A poem of passion and depth - wow...its absolutely engrossing...no time for a critique right now - I'd like to suggest you repost it in CA...  K |
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svandersaar Junior Member
since 2001-01-15
Posts 40 |
Severn, a pleasure to know I've captured you with my meager rambling. I remember your incredible attention to one of my posts awhile back, so any advice/comments you can give are welcome!  I don't know that I am ready for CA, yet, (I don't generally have the time to give back that kind of critique to others) but thank you for the suggestion! |
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Cpat Hair
since 2001-06-05
Posts 11793 |
engrossing read, but I think it covers enough for more than one poem.... it is unusual to think of sacharine thickness and while I liked that particular turn of words..I am left wondering what exactly it was meant to convey... In general I did enjoy the work... |
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