11-16-2013, 08:11 PM
I sit. I watch. I listen.
Night gathers itself,
Then disappears.
Dawn glows behind
The faded drapes.
The coffee beckons.
Street noises begin.
The dog barks, unhappy
That he is still in,
And not out. - I love the dog.
The bird whistles
And finds a red berry
High on the bramble bush.
A croaking raven soars into
The cloudless sky of wanting. - the phrasing 'of wanting' seems weak to me. Maybe try to invert it. Alternately, the stanza could be cut, as nothing is happening with the speaker, though the bird imagery provides a nice transition to the more spiritual themes.
I rise. I turn. I pray
To a god I
Don’t believe in
And hum a hymn
Whose words I can’t remember. - I feel the last line could be shortened, especially when the rest of phrase is so beautifully sparse. Maybe: with forgotten words.
Carefully I pour
The black and waiting coffee,
Emptying its hotness
Into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed. - 'its hotness' seems a bit contrived. But I adore the cynicism of the last line.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves turn their backs,
Then change their minds.
The horse’s mane rises up,
The drowsy angels sleep. - It is good enough that the horse's mane rises.
This is not my story to tell.
I'm quite fond of this piece. I actually find it's filled with imagery, but the phrasing is quite direct, for the most part, which I think gives a nice sense of the emotional state of the speaker. Well done!
Night gathers itself,
Then disappears.
Dawn glows behind
The faded drapes.
The coffee beckons.
Street noises begin.
The dog barks, unhappy
That he is still in,
And not out. - I love the dog.
The bird whistles
And finds a red berry
High on the bramble bush.
A croaking raven soars into
The cloudless sky of wanting. - the phrasing 'of wanting' seems weak to me. Maybe try to invert it. Alternately, the stanza could be cut, as nothing is happening with the speaker, though the bird imagery provides a nice transition to the more spiritual themes.
I rise. I turn. I pray
To a god I
Don’t believe in
And hum a hymn
Whose words I can’t remember. - I feel the last line could be shortened, especially when the rest of phrase is so beautifully sparse. Maybe: with forgotten words.
Carefully I pour
The black and waiting coffee,
Emptying its hotness
Into my grateful mouth.
The cup of salvation, indeed. - 'its hotness' seems a bit contrived. But I adore the cynicism of the last line.
Who mourns the death of one woman?
The waves turn their backs,
Then change their minds.
The horse’s mane rises up,
The drowsy angels sleep. - It is good enough that the horse's mane rises.
This is not my story to tell.
I'm quite fond of this piece. I actually find it's filled with imagery, but the phrasing is quite direct, for the most part, which I think gives a nice sense of the emotional state of the speaker. Well done!