Free verse № 56270
thought & memory
In thought,
eyelids shut, I can
see static
like a secret satellite
signal beam
to my bleary brain
or a prototype
video game,
my virtual life.
And memory
a laconic raven perched
amid allfather's wayworn strands;
hard, leeched,
with dusted pinion,
expiry passed,
less cogent
or material
but in lurking quietude
over endless blank lines,
the peregrine pen
invokes
the infinitesimal
and for one effulgent second
these holed
and drafty walls
drop away.
9 comments
drop the great; embrace the mundane. you will love me for it.
x, z
the infinitesimal
and for one effulgent second
these holed
and drafty walls
drop away."
I like a read with interesting wording. This was quite a poem. You remind me of some one close to me...I'll show you a sample of his work..
The July night spit and cracked in its black eye,
its black iron pot; black boots rout sand
on a beach whose shadows revolve, roll about
like fat citrus at dawnâs red skin. Fork-split;
my father died this night.
In a Texas tumbleweedâtumble,
was the cement, the man, the moon.
I do not tote his flag, carry visions across
the years as tinder
into flames.
Hell is too abundant. It pumps through tubes
and cavities in snow-banked gullies,
sweet waters of Hungarian streams.
I have taken it up. I am all mouthâ
he taught me this with bony spindles, contours.
Off a mountainside, I recall. Forget, forget;
suicides, contusions, edgesâ
forget since you can not.
Black boots stretch and moan on the concrete,
in the black eye; I fit them tight
as a casket, right as a dead manâs
son.
We were both published in the same zine. I admire his work as I do yours. I'm sure I messed up his structure though. ;)
Log in to add a comment.