- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Poetry Chyme
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I am seashells, tumbled glass, drift wood
stringy seaweed, slightly torn
sand blasted, weather worn
whisper clinking, against the storm
I hang from gnarled cypress, gripping
jagged cliff along the shore
I love a good squall that tears at my soul
until small pieces of beauty are born
But I wish I were amethyst crystals, copper bells
on golden thread, a pristine melody
tossing word rainbows
sculpted from air, admired by all
hanging from bright autumn oak
on the hill above the swimming hole
where 4 o’clock breezes and gentle rains
set my poet voice to tinkling
- COMMENTS
YDDabout 20 years agoA very good metaphor on a thought shared by all aspiring writers.
This gets better every time you read it.
I could only wish for a different word choice than "swimming hole". The oak could be anywhere, and somehow "hole" just rings wrong to my ear.
Maria2394about 20 years agoI enjoyed the first version, but you managed to keep the spirit and words and make is so much better!! you really are talented, I hope you keep writing and posting, I enjoy you very much :)
maria
Tathagataabout 20 years agoYou know how much I loved it...glad you submitted it.
Your work is getting better and better.
Thank You
