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Diurnally
The bells are a'rising
without a ring,
as morning splatters across the grass.
I thirst for an open mouth to speak,
long for a shifting of quiet
across your sleep.
But you do not turn,
O, terrible stone,
does it not hurt to be thrown?
Even the flowers swoop to reveal
their faces to the sun--
How dare you never do,
How dare you never wake for me!
This early light discolors your eyes,
unveils your vague echoes of heat.
Pale and shine into the sun,
I remember,
another hand extending nothing,
and me,
left grasping for air.
Silence,
how it screams of you-- my mouth agape with you,
you, and you.
Wider yet, I will open still,
my body a pocket
for all of your small violences.
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Comment by: Stephie - 2007-11-14 12:54
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| Well, where to begin with this one......I think it starts from your first two lines, the bells rise, but without rininging. There is the glory, but there is also the dispappointment of no sound. Very well defined for the inspiration behind the piece darling. This is a poem that I love to crawl through, on hands and knees, discovering every word, every sound, looking for something that may help me move forward. Perhaps we stagnate too much...but in defense, with good reason I feel we stagnate.....so it better be a good reason. Hm. I suppose I have gone way of topic here. |
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I like the opening consonance, a'rising without a ring, and then the unique sound of morning "splattering" what a melodic entrance.
I'm picking up a very subtle dig at the end, is it real? Is that a jab, being a pocket for their "small violences?" Hey,, sometimes a small cigar is just a small cigar. ,;-) |
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Some really great expressions.
"o terrible stone"
"my body a pocket for all of your small violences". |
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| I like the ending. It's a strong poem of loss or waiting |
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It does hurt.
Very nice cadence, and I really liked the morning imagery, but the ending is so... grotesque or something. I’m still not sure if I like it but it definitely adds power and effect. |
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