06-21-2012, 05:18 AM
Hi,
I've been working on this poem and I like the imagery. I'm trying to think of ways to make it better. Criticism welcome.
Little feather dove, drooping with color are you
displeased? Questions may be despised and lay
dimly lit like vain flickers of moonlight cast upon
shadow in your Aegean eyes.
Crazy-lovely is an orchid bent, a compelling vision
yet emanating an entrancing scent, a fragility like
cunning futile arguments. She’s standing high and
surrounded on red sandy dunes.
The ground blazes out runes with bloodshot eyes,
the desert floor keeps asking where the vicious water
went. A question matched by the sky, furor in ready
supply, is asked by the sun meeting the earth’s line.
A greeting at the center of all our lives
the burning majesty, he is passion enthroned
in the remote kingdom clothed in ghastly,
expansive midnight robes.
Only the dimly lit wonder of night
can capture the vastness of his might, the
pin-pointed principalities gleam for our eyes only
when all else has faded into a dark absconding dream.
But he summons us, doesn’t he? Reveling in prisms
with flourishes played upon humid air to produce
greetings of lucid insanity, his madness and beauty
truly encompass the wide spectrums of our small lives.
Orchid-lover, lost in the fiery red desert
crazy-lovely, broken, bent lady
oh, Beatrice of our lives
What have they done to you,
what in deed has been done?
Where are you now you silken screeching banshee,
your dew does sizzle like drops on coals of fancy.
Limpid lilting petals of velvet-light curving to scarlet;
blushes inscribed in the calligraphy of thin veins.
Peer over the jutting edge into contorted collusions
of sharp rock, a congregation of stone, the deep
indwelling of twisting waters trapped in their own
home. There now is where you stand.
As you look into the expanse of your soul’s motion;
blue darkly shining and stillness deeply burning --
the sapphire’s way -- uniting people of a nation with a
perpetual waterfalling bridge, maybe death-begetting --
except for the one that surrenders and swims.
The tithing tides take in all of identity’s lies.
If you indeed plummet you ghost purified with lye,
you ghost of a limp lethal florae – that must cry out
crazy with love or it will die;
If you do now, say your questions have arrived
and met their consummation; if you abandon
the grounds of your life and dive into this
sea of rioting untold commotion;
you’re but spirit-bound, if you plummet –
you will only fly.
I've been working on this poem and I like the imagery. I'm trying to think of ways to make it better. Criticism welcome.
Little feather dove, drooping with color are you
displeased? Questions may be despised and lay
dimly lit like vain flickers of moonlight cast upon
shadow in your Aegean eyes.
Crazy-lovely is an orchid bent, a compelling vision
yet emanating an entrancing scent, a fragility like
cunning futile arguments. She’s standing high and
surrounded on red sandy dunes.
The ground blazes out runes with bloodshot eyes,
the desert floor keeps asking where the vicious water
went. A question matched by the sky, furor in ready
supply, is asked by the sun meeting the earth’s line.
A greeting at the center of all our lives
the burning majesty, he is passion enthroned
in the remote kingdom clothed in ghastly,
expansive midnight robes.
Only the dimly lit wonder of night
can capture the vastness of his might, the
pin-pointed principalities gleam for our eyes only
when all else has faded into a dark absconding dream.
But he summons us, doesn’t he? Reveling in prisms
with flourishes played upon humid air to produce
greetings of lucid insanity, his madness and beauty
truly encompass the wide spectrums of our small lives.
Orchid-lover, lost in the fiery red desert
crazy-lovely, broken, bent lady
oh, Beatrice of our lives
What have they done to you,
what in deed has been done?
Where are you now you silken screeching banshee,
your dew does sizzle like drops on coals of fancy.
Limpid lilting petals of velvet-light curving to scarlet;
blushes inscribed in the calligraphy of thin veins.
Peer over the jutting edge into contorted collusions
of sharp rock, a congregation of stone, the deep
indwelling of twisting waters trapped in their own
home. There now is where you stand.
As you look into the expanse of your soul’s motion;
blue darkly shining and stillness deeply burning --
the sapphire’s way -- uniting people of a nation with a
perpetual waterfalling bridge, maybe death-begetting --
except for the one that surrenders and swims.
The tithing tides take in all of identity’s lies.
If you indeed plummet you ghost purified with lye,
you ghost of a limp lethal florae – that must cry out
crazy with love or it will die;
If you do now, say your questions have arrived
and met their consummation; if you abandon
the grounds of your life and dive into this
sea of rioting untold commotion;
you’re but spirit-bound, if you plummet –
you will only fly.