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The Dandelion
He is all mouth and parted lips,
slowly exhaling, tumbling my loose seeds of memory.
With the restlessness of a paper napkin,
I am unable to balance between thumb and forefinger.
I move with his motions, perfect in symmetry,
clusters of white sliding as Braille beneath his fingertips.
I could be the rose, the heart and beauty,
but I am plucked, a portal, a hole in the damp earth.
My summer skin bares the blemishes of freedom,
for I am the unsung shadow, crushed, turning in his hands.
In deeper soils his tears would spill piles and puddles around me.
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Where does one go from here? It's pain melting itself yet the fragrance seeping into each of my breath. Lonely and sad love makes us. Strange, I saw helplessness on both sides. Melancholia personified.
My salute to you. |
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| I agree that the imagery of this poem is striking. My favorite is ´tumbling my loose seeds of memory´ I also like the way that you portray the complexity of love. |
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Comment by: Dakota - 2008-02-04 06:41
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I adore these too lines -'but I am plucked, a portal, a hole in the damp earth,' (that is deeply moving and for some reason quite disturbing)
'for I am the unsung shadow, crushed, turning in his hands.'
Really achingly beautiful.
Amazing work. |
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"My summer skin bares the blemishes of freedom,
for I am the unsung shadow, crushed, turning in his hands."
I love, love, LOVE the imagery in this couplet here. This poem makes me feel as if I'm taking it in with all of my senses. It is something I am feeling and tasting as well -- not just reading. |
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| Another beautiful beginning. Love the imagery. I can feel, see and smell this poem. I am not sure about the last line though- I am not getting the sense of this man as someone who would cry and now his tears are puddling around the narrator or is that line saying the narrator wishes he would show some emotion? |
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