Poem Body
silence is soft
wicked wind whispers
chrome hot
spouts jets
chlorine mists
town treated tanks
from brick huddled river
House
the stopper not set
but the water rises
like nights hours
thundering in the
clawed white pool
peeling paint
wooden floor
full of its tell tale
creaks
waiting
Lurid moons wash
crawls across
the setting
a ghost fallen
seeking warmth
of fleshes illumination
tub tap turned stop
hollow drips
candles lit
one a.m.
slip
into
the hot embrace
welcome a visions
rhetoric respite
soothing comfort
in the flicker din
of low key light
..
Comments
Nothing like...
a good hot soak in the tub! Almost like a lover's embrace. As per usual, your words flooded my mind with images that I can relate to. ~ Gee.
Hiya, Esk. I've now read a
Hiya, Esk. I've now read a few of your *ahem*,,,, "fur balls", and, it's almost impossible to critique authentic/original poetry without tainting or wringing the originality out of it, so, I'll just offer up a couple o' thoughts.,,, (not that I know what the hell I'm talking about, but,)
You do have a wonderful turn of phrase most of the time, phrases with just a smidgeon of ambiguity that I like very muchly.
One thing I'm not so keen on is the hard edged staccato nature of your formatting.
pucker up and gizza kiss. Obi.