- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Memory Like Mud
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Click hereWalking back amid the ghost of bones,
the memory of dance, of telephones
and words in unclear invitation
smudged with chance, of what we thought
might be and was or wasn't said,
the metaphors that might have laughed
or whispered lies instead, but always
floated hope in bubbles blown for prayer.
Today a season ends, another starts anew
with me still here, but there's no more of you.
I kept you warm, our promise in September
leaned against a chilly sky. Indian summer
passed, and by and by the snow burnt ash
of what we might have been. Spring falls
again in drips and drops of syncopated rain,
our time sunk somewhere in the mud.
Now only poems remain.
- COMMENTS
Sabina_Tolchovskyabout 19 years agothe flow of this poem is wonderful...the emotion was heartfelt and true. sabina
dcpoet44about 19 years agoa masterpiece!!!! another fresh perspective on the seasons. there is nothing left else for me to but bow down in awe. my trademark for a limited time.
Tathagataabout 19 years ago" reminiscence" poems are always my favorites.
It always has a " taste" to it that I recognize
~Spring falls
again in drips and drops of syncopated rain,
our time sunk somewhere in the mud.
Now only poems remain.~
Always syncopation with you
: )
How many people could I send this verse to and it would be perfect?
Excellent writing
Thank you
My Erotic Taleabout 19 years agowitty angeline, sometimes coffee helps but then theres the java issues, seem no matter where you turn you get stung, like an ant sting, a little or big thing. Like living on the edge of an eternal ant bed, your gonna get stung today, I just wish my mind wasn't mud so I could enjoy it poeticly, in stead I scratched it away and can't remember my day ...inspirational <laughing>
funny though ...I remember her <grin>
