The Price of Thursday

The hours from my mind burn towards a strange odd language

each day seeming farther and farther away, 

willingly into the mental canyon

I hear these lost voices gathering in the market streets below

telling me not to think or remember

 

It is summer’s eve up on the high ledge

the sound of a sudden rain fresh with suicide

cloud to cloud

consenting 

 

I watch from the sheets as she leans into my scenery

listening to the flock she has gathered from the night before

the waters below roll again and again 

pouring into the hands of an old Spanish prayer

and I begin to remember the names

 

There was a time when God dared to listen

a place where He merged with our steps and made but one single mark and we knew what it was to believe

 

She turns from the currents and splintering French doors

Mediterranean now woven into her dress

nothing is said  

no time collapses

from this she smiles her way back into bed

 

For an instant I grasp as everything returns

spring now buried and all the stragglers of May

she runs her fingers cross my lips as if I speak in answers

holding her body to my dream and for a moment the three of us are one 

I wake and the unbearable rush is the harsh sound of new sunlight entering, recalling how indelible these hours can become

Author's Note

painting Jean-Pierre Cassigneul

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I love how you offer a stream of memory fragments that feels as if we're feeling it tumble from a reverie, in exactly that incongruous way that memories stream. All your plentiful details are sparkling with originality & unexpectedness. For my straightforward little mind, this is the perfect level of abstract that I can read & still feel as if I'm forming a coherent understanding of meaning (rather than being totally clueless as I sometimes can be!) Great to be back reading you! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Perdition]

Thanks Margie..short break but will be checking in and out..Thank you as always for the feedback and your thoughtful reviews...soon and smiles~

[Robert Trakofler]

this poem ends with a pin drop silence that echoes a resplendent lush in the stillness hush and I am left with a feeling of crave for its return:) of that warmth and tender touch. beautiful composition Mr. Perdition

[Perdition]

Sorry for the delay BB..had to get away from the madness and breathe good waters..Appreciate the kind words as always and will be making my rounds soon enough...first a few hours of sleep..believe it or not..lol.

[Robert Trakofler]

hey hey hope your doing better! me and my dribbles arent going anywhere:) remember to smile my friend

[jacob erin-cilberto]

what a way to express the rain.."fresh with suicide/cloud to cloud consenting"
the combination of your imagery, personification and metaphor makes you one of the best on this site.
I like how you stretch your imagination in order to stretch ours.
j.

[Perdition]

True praise indeed from a great source. Thanks J. ..been chasing rivers so sorry for the delay. Be making the rounds soon!

[Unspoken poet]

Wow, such a deepness yet beautiful longing in this.
Very nicely written and wonderful imagery.

[Perdition]

May need a twist or two but will have to wait...I am off to find a decent insanity in the wilderness. Will review upon return but thank you for stopping by as always. Kay-T. Smiles

[Unspoken poet]

have a great day