save me

it's nothing to do with me

i never nodded

shook my head

                       or smiled

to sweeten a sour guilt

what's that you say

                              i say

she's a liar front to back

through all the stations

bless my soul

ask anyone save her

who danced round and round

and gave us all the season's scare

dipping in the bowl

yes a stranger

i'm not the only saw him

leering eyes and long black hair

it was him who took liberties

at least it must have been

he was the compass point

to more than her

but she was most mused

as the bell counted up the night

someone must have seen me

take my quiet leave

feeling woosed

i leaned upon a wayward wall

that lead me lost until i stumbled

into a scoundrel's snare

who took my purse

and scratched my face and...

hands off it wasn't me

i never such a thing

                              ask

ask anyone save her

save me...

Author's Note

with a nod to mr browning, though i could never carry on for pages

Reviews

[J. J. Nightingale]

For some old odd reason I hear "Put the Blame on Mame" ...
Silly me..so lost in times.and ages gone

Poor ..the one found guilty..

You do have wonderful way with words..

Jazz

[Ed Hart]

hello JJ, i always value the way you catch the melody

[J. J. Nightingale]

Ha.......... I am kinda finished with making sense..but I try..... You are welcome Sir Hart....Jazz

[h d e rushin]

Good that someone admits to an unknown source, hell, even an un-announced muse who
always wants to deliver even to the unreceptive. I leaned over the bed last night in a fit
of Theraflu-Tylenol PM-Mountain Dew half/sleep and wrote the most tender of love poems.
Cant imagine even where it came from. But perhaps we write like Sexton did, we work the
rhythm out, the spacing out, perhaps even the characters....then we pour the poem into that form.

I saw so many things happening here Ed. Somehow a bar setting comes to mine, where unmarried
women make the room convertible by tearing the lid off of reason and seduction. Whatever,
the final lines were the heavenly conclusion of something hoped for; something that indulgent dreams
allow...

dana

[Ed Hart]

i would cross a desert to meet you dana (he said from his old rocking chair into his double malt)...i just shake my head and wonder at smart people...bless you, my friend

[An Ordinary Woman]

'twas down at the brick district where she first bumped into all those peoples who, maybe wanted more than she cared to give, or maybe it was the other way around...we'll never know for sure. It only happened when one too many frosty tops slid down the throat oh so smooth. Glamorous. She was indeed. And still is, I am sure.

A lovely and thought provoking write. love love love!

[Ed Hart]

you certainly have the rhythm of it old gal...we're still holding it together, aren't we

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

I too am intrigued by this poem... I can see many layers and thoughts intwined... but for me it comes down to is that we cannot always help a loved one fix a problem, but we can sure be there for emotional support.

[Ed Hart]

this 'poem' has so many accents, even i don't know where it came from

[W.k.kortas]

A bit more expansive than your norm (although I suspect that may be due to our narrator protesting too much), but still chock full of meanings and musing poking out between the lines. If this is guilty, we all should all wear such handcuffs.

[Ed Hart]

every once in a poem, i get an attack of expansiveness, but when my wife gets through laughing at me, i climb back into my shell...even though the few of us only e-meet, i'm truly grateful there is this medium, mr K

[.]

-- oh, this is a very intriguing piece for me, Maestro Ed... but i think i do comprehend the narrator's POV... and to me, it seems like the pain that false accusations can cause is overwhelming, damaging and debilitating...

[Ed Hart]

i also am intrigued by this write, as i try to search out its source and its reason

[.]

-- wow... seems like your muse is being very mysterious... i guess she needs more attention... :p