Someone's Poem

[only rob]

Someone’s Poem


Somewhere, she looks for me,
perhaps in kneading turgid dough
or below umbilicus, needing
the relief of particular rhythms
to delve into forests where pistons
meet fire to turn precision gears.

I only know her hunger is relevant
to the story the night keeps from me,
like news of death or a little black dress
that wants me to conjoin with day,
the trumpet of exposure and shame.

Her petals splay like lover's legs
or Venusian flowers in the light of moons
but the dew transforms my blinded eyes
to memories of imagined she, love's
forgotten albatross, looking for Xanadu.

I look her in the window, but only stars,
only a bit of carbon in my hand,
a wisp of ancient auroras, a relic,
cupped as if a breast inhabited
the absence on the cold side of Mars.

But she is...

[Leanne]

Whew... I feel rather hot and bothered, especially after reading that first stanza

So many things to like here Rob. The Coleridge references make me incredibly happy, but I think my favourite lines are:

"I only know her hunger is relevant
to the story the night keeps from me"

The possibilities in those two lines are endless. Great to see you!

[billy]

perhaps in kneading turgid dough; is just one of many really good images. i can feel fingers, palms at work (almost)

I look her in the window, but only stars,
only a bit of carbon in my hand,

the last stanza gives a perfect finish and more than a hint as to the creativity. i also liked how you worked the petal and Venusian clichés in without making them cliche
thanks for the read.

[Keith]

love's forgotten albatross, looking for Xanadu I really enjoyed this line in particular (soaring on large wings lost) and the images the whole poem presents. Thank you

[addy]

A beautiful piece. I love the level of control you exercised here, where its bold in precise ways; the feeling that runs through the poem is powerful but handled artfully. I really, really like the end result.