The Stars Are There Some Place

 

The stars are there some place,
blinded by the sun that has a tendency
to incinerate the edge of dreams.
I can't seem to walk without falling
into the sway of some blue song
straight out of a thunderstorm.

Some days I am a star too.

I stay behind the sun and sparkle
far into my night soul
where I croon a weary lullaby
and I mention
the blood of maple leaves
and hearts grown mongrel.

The first sun through the trees
hides a multitude of beauty
too bright and overwrought
for the soft pretty of a sapphire mind
where all the clocks are muffled
in a velvet cloth.

Reviews

[cartera]

Nice touch of Auden to finish off with. Here we have a poet discussing herself with herself and putting the talk down on paper for the Readers to recognise and universalise. The Reader, or worse, the Critic, can add no thing, for 'hearts grown mongrel' and the clocks muffled in velvet speak of sadnesses that are still being worked out.
Fine poem of feeling.
ATB
alex.

[W.k.kortas]

Venablese done pastoral. Warm, well-crafted, and wonderful.

[Phibby Venable]

Lol...oh Greg, if only my husband was alive to hear me referred to as to the point! he had such a booming laugh. Much love and thank you for the review.

[Greg the Bard]

I found this hard to read. It is very sudden and to the point. It has great images but I didn't like the way it was tied together. Still it is direct. Good write.

[Ed Hart]

you brought my day to sudden stillness, and set me on a quieter course

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Seeing is not believeing, believeing is seeing. Beautifully and intelligently composed.