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Clenched Fist
| Open Poetry #27 |
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Clenched Fist |
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296
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Clenched Fists Bone sallow branches of conscious internal music, Rip tides dripping, inching into a course of expertise. Lubricating the hours of fire, whispering melody Of conversations eyeing motions, counting direction earthly To suppress all cries, nestling balm of thresholds along side. Moreover, the musician’s sound emerges constellations statewide Pouring nectarous mobiles of soft wind chime lullabies Blue whistles of empty paint tubes into higher velocity, Not to be shaken! Fists clench arching offerings! We seek altogether, those truly picturesque spaces between. Famine dissipates, as destiny funnels air embryonic. Why ache for color when it literally splatters oceans of moons Cool debris clenching with speech, literature and mosaic tunes. Gyrating mountain ranges, as the day becomes absurdly pleasant. Constant winds speak much news, in magazines and investments. I see for a moment, how violets lean back to dusk instead of weightless attire. So do I, for a instant, counting the slipped fingers of barbed wire. Refuse of foods left upon city sidewalks, self-increasing ions. Conceiving July’s flicker of phosphorescent lanterns living in bronze. Betraying Pentecostal means of guilty objects, fleeing stock markets. Passing a sign in the street, which speaks of soft moods in water ringlets. Determined, I stay glued to the keyboards and surmise Of music which exhales silent wishing in surprise There, dropping my coat, I hear the shuffle of Church windows warmly sounding, Phenomenons glance this way and that, in the peace of some ornate iron railings. A thief moves among the muse, in that spillway of his, cooking breakfast. Nevertheless…Zen being full-sized, kneading onlookers with His secret idiom. Castrating cultural shame Despite realistic stones, lodging through time, of deafening relics loathsome. God’s astuteness does not heed this sort of trickery! Motioning the circle, penetrating all phone lines, sounding His marquee. Way paste borders to recollection, of the fine works of yesterday’s literature? Long after bookstores close, we set the cruise control. Over, in and out, motions profoundly racing, creating musical toes seemingly sane. Which touches unnoticed, definitely fixed, melding with something we arrange. Emotions, actions, hopeful, circling everywhere like dogs, within these movements, framing sensations Into the trickle of a miniscule thought, in mid-descent. Wood fuels this affectionate lover, who speaks no conclusion, merging eons. I promise not to be late! Venting images soaked with prosaic crayons |
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| © Copyright 2003 Lee J. - All Rights Reserved | |||
suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
I see for a moment, how violets lean back to dusk instead of weightless attire. So do I, for a instant, counting the slipped fingers of barbed wire. Such striking images you weave... well done! *S* |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
You are a marvellously descriptive writer!  I enjoy your work, Lee! Warm hugs, EA |
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QjQ Member Elite
since 2003-04-18
Posts 3756U.S.A. |
fabulous,,, just fabulous..... A voice of honesty |
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JilGirl Member
since 2003-05-24
Posts 364Washington |
Very fine write! you've touched my emotions with imagery through your selective words! 'Tiz feathers that make the bird - |
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