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 Posted: Sat Nov 11, 2006 1:06 am
I composed this during an Open Field Poetry class one day, and was curious about your thoughts on this piece.
Perchance to misery
I thought that was what I was
Thinking, but no, it couldn't be.
Walking, was I wounded?
And in the case of the
Broken mockingbird
I shy from her gaze.
Still
The trees beckon
With pincer arms
They scare me, yet longingly
I want to be held
And go up, up, thrown high
Opening the windows over a
Grassy hill, bent grass to the wind
A white shirt
Perhaps,
Gliding over green, and red
Sky, walking into it
Like a wheelbarrow, but not
Like a Radio Flyer without the TM
Like a silence that dries up,
Soaked into the earth
Silk like raven words
Sliding over my shaking thighs
Watch me come to you
Again.
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Posted: Sat Nov 11, 2006 9:31 am
I like the allusions to imagery 3nodding
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