07-29-2014, 11:05 PM
Thank you for all your critiques. This rewrite is in direct response to them. I'd like to know your thoughts.
Best,
poe
Letting Go of Us
I have gone angling for a
fishhook in my heart
Swimming within with
a scrutinizing eyeglass,
I strained my left eye and
went blind,
where I was
in my mind:
at the shore's edge,
furthest point out,
by the black and white
striped lighthouse.
I buried my cold
browned feet
in the soft white sand
that had baked all day
beneath the burning sun.
Warm tears leaked out. Then a ringing in my ears
was overcome by the crashing of the barreling
ocean waves.
A tangled fishing line was laboriously restored to a fisherman's
reel. Out beyond the jetties, below the choppy surface of the sea,
fish of all kinds are hunting out their prey
taunting seagulls and fishermen alike.
Dark mossy seaweed tightened briny fingers
around my feet and between the jetties the ocean raised its colassal belly to meet the languishing sky.
The shrilling of the lifeguards blows,
staccato voices of children at play,
and a foghorns' insistent bulling calls dissipated,
leaving nothing save the sound of the shores laconic lapping.
Another hot summer's day distilled down into cool cobalt, then black.
Suggesting nothing still of the sweetness that the salt will allow,
a fishhook washed up on the shore of my tongue.
Original
I have gone fishing for
a needle in my heart.
Swimming within with
a scrutinizing eyeglass
straining my left eye
I went blind
where I was
in my mind,
at the shore's edge
furthest point out
by the black and white striped
lighthouse.
I buried my cold browned feet in the soft white sand
that had baked all day in the burning sun.
Warm tears leaked out. Then a ringing in my ears
was overcome by the crashing of the ocean's
waves.
A tangled fishing line was laboriously restored to a fisherman's
reel. Out beyond the jetties, below the choppy surface of the sea,
fish of all kinds are hunting out their prey
taunting seagulls and fishermen alike.
A needle washed up on the shore of my tongue.
Best,
poe
Letting Go of Us
I have gone angling for a
fishhook in my heart
Swimming within with
a scrutinizing eyeglass,
I strained my left eye and
went blind,
where I was
in my mind:
at the shore's edge,
furthest point out,
by the black and white
striped lighthouse.
I buried my cold
browned feet
in the soft white sand
that had baked all day
beneath the burning sun.
Warm tears leaked out. Then a ringing in my ears
was overcome by the crashing of the barreling
ocean waves.
A tangled fishing line was laboriously restored to a fisherman's
reel. Out beyond the jetties, below the choppy surface of the sea,
fish of all kinds are hunting out their prey
taunting seagulls and fishermen alike.
Dark mossy seaweed tightened briny fingers
around my feet and between the jetties the ocean raised its colassal belly to meet the languishing sky.
The shrilling of the lifeguards blows,
staccato voices of children at play,
and a foghorns' insistent bulling calls dissipated,
leaving nothing save the sound of the shores laconic lapping.
Another hot summer's day distilled down into cool cobalt, then black.
Suggesting nothing still of the sweetness that the salt will allow,
a fishhook washed up on the shore of my tongue.
Original
I have gone fishing for
a needle in my heart.
Swimming within with
a scrutinizing eyeglass
straining my left eye
I went blind
where I was
in my mind,
at the shore's edge
furthest point out
by the black and white striped
lighthouse.
I buried my cold browned feet in the soft white sand
that had baked all day in the burning sun.
Warm tears leaked out. Then a ringing in my ears
was overcome by the crashing of the ocean's
waves.
A tangled fishing line was laboriously restored to a fisherman's
reel. Out beyond the jetties, below the choppy surface of the sea,
fish of all kinds are hunting out their prey
taunting seagulls and fishermen alike.
A needle washed up on the shore of my tongue.