you and I have walked this way
a time or two before.
perhaps you were the brickmason
scribbling on that purchased pot
with hand-carved pen and found ink.
maybe I was the quiet laundress
easily overcome with the grandeur
of your pseudo glyphs.
maybe there is something
in the swing of my hips that reminds you
of times when your hands traced my form.
or could it be I watched
from some silent stone tower
as you shed layers of clothing
beside the still sea
and dived in swimming swiftly
through blue waters.
maybe there is something
in the curve of my breast that haunts you
on quiet nights when the moon is full.
The rhythm has musicality and lyrical intensity. One can truly imagine these two people walking together, how their professions inform their lives. The imagery is exquisite:
perhaps you were the brickmason
scribbling on that purchased pot
with hand-carved pen and found ink.
maybe I was the quiet laundress
easily overcome with the grandeur
as W.K.Kortas writes culminatively, this poem reaches near perfection.
Heavy stuff..Apparently heaven and hell can occupy the same space..or space is an illusion..they say time is all one moment..IDK..I'm gonna take a nap now.
Hauntingly well-written.
I can't tell whether the conclusion is positive or negative though[?] Kind of sexually-charged, throughout the poem, either way. In a good way, not a smutty one. It's understated [I use that word as a compliment, but it's probably not the right word].
Completely back up w.k.kortas - this is excellent; form, language, subject, flow, tone..."the full package".
Great job, Emily.
If you ever plan on publishing a poetry collection - this one has to be in there.
The rhythm has musicality and lyrical intensity. One can truly imagine these two people walking together, how their professions inform their lives. The imagery is exquisite:
perhaps you were the brickmason
scribbling on that purchased pot
with hand-carved pen and found ink.
maybe I was the quiet laundress
easily overcome with the grandeur
as W.K.Kortas writes culminatively, this poem reaches near perfection.
Well! This piece is, most certainly, the full package-- technically speaking, there is the judicious and effective use of repetition and alliteration, and the flow and pacing are near perfect. Affectively, the imagery is vivid, almost haunting in spots. This is the stuff that belongs on the top shelf.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..