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The First Hint of Autumn
crisp red maple leaves dance
from the hissing wind
he paints the arc of
my flesh
with the chroma of his
eyes, naked as I hide
in the shadows of his Fresco
the tips of his brush
from oak to russet
he paints my lips, brilliant scarlet,
guiding, teasing every curve
every colour, changing
now, a minute later
yellow to gold
his thoughts, my abstract
in a quarry of rubble
I seek you, precious to a miners touch
resting his onyx eyes like crystal quartz
caressing his pink tourmaline
passionate as an artists
affair with his canvass
as moonlight craves
the pleasure of evening
so I have resurrected
from dust to gold
in the foliage of
your touch
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I really like the concept that you have going on here. Your imagery gave me a warm feeling.
I'm wondering if you meant to say, "he paints my lips" instead of "he paint my lips." Just a thought. |
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| Eloquent and sensual. You make vivdly original metaphors with your intersting use of nouns. Very subtle, too. With a play of power relations between creator and subject matter/muse, too. I longs to be read slowly and repeatedly; a fine wine of a poem. |
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Comment by: Ethgar - 2007-11-11 11:51
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| precociously tempting... something of your words always sounds as though they are skirting with the forbidden... ripe luscious fruit in a beautiful garden. |
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| this is a sensual piece. i can see that he's painting but "he" and "my" doesn't really need to be in there in the second stanza. those red scarlet lips will jump out at the reader. good piece altogether. |
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Comment by: fredav - 2007-11-08 19:31
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Sensual, sensual, sensual! Sheesh! It's getting hot in here. Lol! These lines I will never forget:
he paints the arc of
my flesh
-and-
caressing his pink tourmaline
passionate as an artists
affair with his canvass
By far, I enjoyed this poem out of all you've written. I loved the wordplay, the images it conjured, and how you can effortlessly infuse sensuousness in this entire piece.
Keep writing, Joni. I enjoy reading your work. :-)
-F |
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