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Click hereShe watches him from cigarette and sheets
chase ghosts from the window, both unmoved.
Chelsea’s last siren studies her feet
his typewriter silent, vinyl un-grooved.
What tune to become? New words to be true?
Does he not feel her there open, aligned?
Another cigarette, this time window to Louvre,
pencils post-modern, dust trace designs.
It’s there! It’s there! Sidewalk to sign
Some delivery of this artists perfection.
Lost in the grooves of his own twisted mind
photography captures beyond reflection.
But who was lost at the Chelsea Hotel?
The muse or the writer, neither can tell.
...................
Survivor Poem:
Form N: Spenserian Sonnet
Trigger 13: ghost, cigarette, photography
I was there for every single word. Damn, woman, you are magical with your words. Will you marry me? :D
~m
I was reading sonnet after sonnet and I realized that even the masters did not stay on form all of the time, to do so almost feels unnatural to me. Thanks for reading, enjoying it as is and the Title? It is from Leonard Cohen... I lifted it. Leo told me it was a-ok.
You did it! Ok, so I didn't count syllables or check iambs, but it doesn't matter to me if it goes off here and there because it's a good poem. You've got a nice flow going in it, which works well to muffle that sing-songy quality sonnets sometimes have. And I love the title; you're good with titles! There's one typo (should be "artist's" I think, and maybe a comma after "mind"? You are good at the sonnet--you did a nice job of marrying your voice to the form. :-)