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SLEPT
kept the words in your heart of hearts like secret tears
like the jar of fears
killing ghosts of beauty and
pinning them on fine card stock
each beauty spread
their wings peirced with steel
the colours exposed
I sip images
I taste dust death
of dreams falling like smoke
laying on you naked
as a nightmare
melting like snow
each drop
softening your pain
rusting the armour
I read you with my hands
all the scars
and yet how smooth
you are
the tissue revived
the heart steady
the eyes clear
your eyes sweep beneath
soft whip lashs
sleepwalk
your wings pale
and torn in places
silhoutte of love
Editing stage:
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Comments
Esker
Wed, 2011-01-26 04:17
Mermaid murmur
response to some ass kicking
of late
actual poem not writting off
the cuff but for someone
needs some work
Kailashana2
Wed, 2011-01-26 08:02
ass kicking? and here i
ass kicking? and here i thought ass kicking was part of God's plan, for some it overflowers with poetry.
butterflies pinned
against the wind
by a poet's hand
~A
Esker
Wed, 2011-01-26 15:33
ask where this comes from..
saw a Moon moth once a Lunar moth
all bitten and ragged by birds by bats
but alive on a gas kiosk station where
we filled the line truck
the one ton I drove and compressor
behind the trailer with the hackhoe
and ulitity poles we stood Hardrock
insane men
and then a bit later inside the kiosk
a week maybe the girl in her early
twenties with scarred face and eyes
from a car crash But i looked like
someone had thrown boiling water on
her to despoil her beauty
both scarred beauties in one spot
in less then a week
never the duality of this ever
it was a once in a lifetime moment
beautiful and all across her face from
oil radiator coolant her eyes speckled
with white blemish Like the lunar moth
a week before on the screen outside
this kiosk I can take you and show you
where this was
but its irrelavant now
they were both survivors
both beautiful
pleiades
Thu, 2011-01-27 02:30
I read you with my hands
I read you with my hands
all the scars
and yet how smooth
you are
these words really touched me
you say it needs some work ... perhaps,
but i'd be inclined to leave it ... there's
something raw and beautiful about it, just
as it is
some very lovely lines throughout this e ...
graceful and eloquent
but more than that
your words speak to places
where joy and sorrow sleep ...
places that wait for
an awakening
i find your words speak to me
fragile
beautiful
your
p
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 17:46
where halve ..the being "I"!
tranquility
through transformations
I love your comment M
Thank You
Your W
lou
Thu, 2011-01-27 04:58
HI
This this one reads like to halves of different poems, im not sure why, maybe the imagery changes half way or it's something to do with the syle.
still loved it though
lou
Stand tall, be proud to be who you are, give the world the finger!!!!
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 17:47
In revision Lou it could be put in two seperate poems
Remember I dont think in published terms
and yet I admit to writing in a tapestry fashion
...
Thank You for your comment!
Esker
Thu, 2011-01-27 07:26
halves and all
good comments everyone
ummmm it does split
I never considered KEEPING in the first
I love it to just jump in on a poem alreayd
underway I was always late in getting to
movies and had to make due
but that can be changed
Esker
Thu, 2011-01-27 07:26
halves and all
good comments everyone
ummmm it does split
I never considered KEEPING in the first
I love it to just jump in on a poem alreayd
underway I was always late in getting to
movies and had to make due
but that can be changed
Nordic cloud
Sun, 2011-01-30 13:39
Oh Steven, oh "silhouette of
Oh Steven, oh "silhouette of love."
This poem, collection of words pinned to the page like trophies of humanity
and its possibility to empathise and see beyond the outward beauty
to the inner beauty of man, of moth, of the woman...you can, you do and you do it so well, hope you forgive the quote here, love as aye Ann.
"kept the words in your heart of hearts like secret tears
like the jar of fears
killing ghosts of beauty and
pinning them on fine card stock
each beauty spread
their wings peirced with steel
the colours exposed"
Oh Steven your pinned moths like those in museums exhibited ,forgotten, wasted life,
'ghosts of beauty,'
The spread of delicacy pierced and tainted so, this bit moves me for may reasons, as I loved the story of Freckles, in the forests, if you know what I am speaking of? Freckles by Gene Stratton Porter :-
A peculiar movement beneath a small walnut tree caught his attention. He stopped to investigate. There was an unusually large Luna cocoon, and the moth was bursting the upper end in its struggles to reach light and air. Freckles stood and stared.
"There's something in there trying to get out," he muttered. "Wonder if I could help it? Guess I best not be trying. If I hadn't happened along, there wouldn't have been anyone to do anything, and maybe I'd only be hurting it. It's--it's----Oh, skaggany! It's just being born!"
Freckles gasped with surprise. The moth cleared the opening, and with many wabblings and contortions climbed up the tree. He stared speechless with amazement as the moth crept around a limb and clung to the under side. There was a big pursy body, almost as large as his thumb, and of the very snowiest white that Freckles ever had seen. There was a band of delicate lavender across its forehead, and its feet were of the same colour; there were antlers, like tiny, straw-colored ferns, on its head, and from its shoulders hung the crumpled wet wings. As Freckles gazed, tense with astonishment, he saw that these were expanding, drooping, taking on color, and small, oval markings were beginning to show.
The minutes passed. Freckles' steady gaze never wavered. Without realizing it, he was trembling with eagerness and anxiety. As he saw what was taking place, "It's going to fly," he breathed in hushed wonder. The morning sun fell on the moth and dried its velvet down, while the warm air made it fluffy. The rapidly growing wings began to show the most delicate green, with lavender fore-ribs, transparent, eye-shaped markings, edged with lines of red, tan, and black, and long, crisp trailers.
Freckles was whispering to himself for fear of disturbing the moth. It began a systematic exercise of raising and lowering its exquisite wings to dry them and to establish circulation. The boy realized that soon it would be able to spread them and sail away. His long-coming soul sent up its first shivering cry.
"I don't know what it is! Oh, I wish I knew! How I wish I knew! It must be something grand! It can't be a butterfly! It's away too big. Oh, I wish there was someone to tell me what it is!"
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.
Nordic cloud
Sat, 2013-02-02 14:38
You didn't come back to read
You didn't come back to read my comment Steven?
Or did you?
I like this one specially well.
Might even use ot as a Neo GREAT poem on the Worshop.
As aye Ann.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 17:56
"Human Behaviour" Bijork did a video of this song..
My daughter then three would throw her arms above her head
and I would lift her over my head and "Fly" her about the house
like Nirvana's Smells like Teen Spirit...I would .."Fly" her too
about the house in the Laundry basket!! How we still love
Music today although Much Music has changed some since
the nineties!! But there is a moth in Bijorks video
And I loved Mothman Prophesies..and the real story behind it
although they dynamited the old steel bridge a few years back
finally....
and Years ago was it Queen Victoria travelling by train the crew
saw a phantom waving on the tracks and halted the steamer
to discover the bridge washed away not far....On the headlamp
was a Moth whom had become transfixed with the light...Im
sure its in a musuem someplace..I read this as a child..
It was a foggy enough night too then!!
and as a young adult the local lads...the seamtresses two
boys were using a slingshot and brought down from the streetlamp
outside my old Bungalow home in a tourist lumber leather making
town of long ago a woodland moth..The largest I had ever seen
and the boys asked me what kind it was but I didnt know and told
them so...But I did commend them on the shot!! They were rambunctious
but decent lads...The father removed from the home..
Butterflies are for delicate flowers but the woodland moths are ancient
We also had milkweed nearby growing up and many monarchs grew
and prospered and left from here on warm days....
Thank You!
Nordic cloud
Sun, 2013-02-03 07:56
Thank you for that Steven, I
Thank you for that Steven, I didn't know the story of Queen Victoria.
Love as aye Ann.
"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.
loved
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:01
I always read you with
a jaw wide open
perhaps i may relish the moth
as a poetic token
strange
your words still intrigue
loved
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:05
Im just strange...
and thank god
in a u tube explained away world
we have our mysterys still!!!
Thank You Loved!
loved
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:10
such thoughtful and
instant comment
from a fellow Canadian
makes me feel enamoured....
not so strange
as I think you have absorbed
loved
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:19
Canadian???????
Dont tell me where..Just east or middle or west loved..
you know I love mystery!!!
loved
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:29
let it so remain
the sojourn is more intriguing
than the arrival at the destination
who where what next
become illusions
and
we then feel exhausted
we must move along with the trotting globe
some how two parallels may never meet
than how can we.?????
but tc
some where along a path way
some day we may
then one to the other say
Canadains we..
be till then un-alarmed and happy
i am no poet as one would expect of me...
loved
Esker
Sat, 2013-02-02 18:43
true enough Loved....
I look like everyones dead brother
or alive..
"Did you come from Mission City"
did you know..?.. from Halifax!
I must settle and watch the show Loved!!!
As One...
yes...
Thank You!