Her presence is a poem I cannot read.
My heart, a work of fiction.
A point so venomous, a single kiss,
Our perpetual unravelling.
Is this a flit of fancy?
My heart's metaphoric trampoline
Perhaps, or something more.
I should dream the more but hope the less
To know each stanza, each line, each word,
To feel the paper in my hand, its sharp edge,
To caress the soft smoothness of the page,
To explore each curve, each touch of each letter...
4 comments:
Sorry I've been MIA for a while...
I had to fly down to CA last week for some last minute work stuff, and I've been averaging 14 hour days. (June is always crazy for my work due to fiscal-year end reporting.)
I'm looking forward to reading your poems from the past week, and I hope you are all well.
Welcome back Tim!
In this poem, I see the connection between "body" and "body of work." I especially love this juxtaposition in the last stanza and the last line is soft.
After the last line in the first stanza, I suggest something that relates back to the movement of "unraveling." The image stayed with me both times I read it and I wanted it to "unravel" into the next line. But that may be nit-picky of me.
I've never met 14 hour days, nor do I envy you for enduring through them, Tim. I hope you survived the barrage of work, buddy: I'm happy you've now found the space to write and post here again.
Your last stanza gave me chills, and reminds me, stylistically, of the final words in the film, The Hours (I never read Cunningham's book), where Virginia Woolf captures the essence of life in a letter to her husband. As I commented on Chris' love poem, "Poetry," I envy anyone who manages to write on the topic refreshingly. I bury my love poems in the back of the closet: they all sound like Hallmark cards.
The little details given in the last stanza are excellent. I'm working on being more detailed with my poetry and your description is excellent here, especially as the metaphor it is. I'm drawn in by its concreteness.
I'm a little lost in the second stanza. It seems too abstract for me. This is nothing against you, more me, as sometimes poems can fly over my head.
Writing a love poem is difficult and I'm very impressed by this.
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