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Click herea worthwhile poem will not come from me
about him.
I’ll take notes fromW. H Auden
andstop all the clocks
but I cannot speak a word.
my memories are fractured syllables
and my throat cannot let them pass coherently
I choke on the pale blush of sixteen roses
pronunciation difficult even after years of orthodontics
I could try to skate by, but he gave me even those
“something personal” to show me love
even after he saved my life as I know it
this facial precipitation is not helping
me see anything but him
and he told me all this education would be useful
but all it helps me do is rage,
rage against the dying of the light
because he cannot.
Dylan Thomas was wrong
so all I do is sit here
without poetry
as my reason for life
stills
After reading most poems, I think, 'I got that'.
After this one, Perks, I thought, 'I feel that'. Very well done.
Cat
Gotta go with five inspite of the tree digs. A mentor often takes the brunt when muses sleep. Nice one perkmeister.
I'm not normally drawn to this style, the near ranting flow grabbed me and wouldn't let me go. Auden and Thomas were more structured, but the allusions here work so well. One of my favorite of yours.
jim :)
I think this may be one of your best, perks. You have some wonderful lines in this one, like "pale blush of sixteen roses."
what you're aiming at this mysteious "him". Gratitude, resentment, anger, love? Maybe all of it at once? Buy one thing is striking obvious, you are definitely NOT without poetry.