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Atop rumpled blankets
shadow
trail
one Sunday, I stop
small
change
to consider
hour
wait
how, after each word,
pick
trick
he lifts his fine eyes
give
risk
to mine, adds a quick O.K.
brick
window
to the air between us,
paintbrush
pulse
and waits for me
live
belong
to ration out the next pair
stitches
finish
he must learn to spell
gripping
life
Atop rumpled blankets
shadow
trail
one Sunday, I stop
small
change
to consider
hour
wait
how, after each word,
pick
trick
he lifts his fine eyes
give
risk
to mine, adds a quick O.K.
brick
window
to the air between us,
paintbrush
pulse
and waits for me
live
belong
to ration out the next pair
stitches
finish
he must learn to spell
gripping
life
Literature
jamais
the truth, as staunch and without ornament
as I can make it,
is that I did not want your love,
your voice rattling like the hoary whispers
of stars;
your dreams (rustling like cattails
and half-extended to meet mine)
were as foreign to me
as moonlight, concealed
in its various robes.
your sucking fireflies,
neon mothish words meant to draw me in,
flurried uselessly about me.
but now that your attempted eloquence
is more akin to the wick of a lamp,
charred and drowning in oil,
I may vaguely nod my head.
Literature
Poets Fall
The hushed whispers, intimate and tantalizing
of wants and needs, desires fervently fantasizing
I paint you in words, the strokes flourished and clean
what good is this beauty if it goes unseen?
I drop the stars one by one just for you
I place you among the cool morning dew
I soothe the ache in a soul bereft
I am here when all else has left
With mere words I ignite the passion
gentle or turbulent, I carefully fashion
All for your comfort, your questing pleasure
freely given, blithely taken, all my treasure
I offer the marrow of my bones and know it
the flesh of my life, this life of a poet
Drink deep, my blood is bitter-sweet
t
Literature
lists and listlessness
Each name I mark down is a list.
I write every single word
I intend to promptly forget,
making sure to underline
the important parts.
These are the things I really meant to say.
You'd smile and feel
the way you were supposed to.
It's all so simple.
These little plans of mine
are drawn up and drawn out.
It's too meticulous
to be destiny
and too ridiculous
to be enjoyable.
Would you even feel it if I crossed you off?
I have that power you know.
(That and more.)
I could rearrange you.
I could erase you
completely.
I could kid myself all night,
but I could never let you go.
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And the challenge words: erase, mixture, race
Changes pending -
9/22
'k I changed the opening line of the poem. It was "With time on the wane", but I've changed it to the "Atop rumpled blankets". And I have two reasons (actually I have three, but you can just guess the third):
1) I wanted an image not a statement to establish the tone of the poem, and this one (with it's wrinkles) suggests enough about the passing of time and a day on the wane to satisfy me. The more I read it, actually saying "With time on the wane" seemed too formal for me; it was like saying "O.K., I'm going to try and say somehting significant now." And I just hate that. 2) This particular image seems appropriate to the adult/child exchange described here - it sets the stage for coziness and all.
I also moved O.K. up a line for rhythm and image considerations.
And with that, I think I'm done here
9/24
'k - I've made one last change to the order of the italicized spelling words in the last three stanzas. I'm getting really anal retentive here probably and ought to let it go, but, well, I didn't so there. Now it ends with the last three lines of the poem both finishing the rest of the poem, and also standing alone if desired as a complete thought of their own. After she read the poem, my best friend in the whole world said, "I like it" and then she asked - how did I think it would work if it ended with "gripping life", and I thought "Well, lets just see." and I did and I think I like it this way. I think it's notably stronger this way in a couple ways. Soooo at the risk of being irritating I'm going to resend it just this one last time. But that's all for this, I swear.
Dave Prisk
Changes pending -
9/22
'k I changed the opening line of the poem. It was "With time on the wane", but I've changed it to the "Atop rumpled blankets". And I have two reasons (actually I have three, but you can just guess the third):
1) I wanted an image not a statement to establish the tone of the poem, and this one (with it's wrinkles) suggests enough about the passing of time and a day on the wane to satisfy me. The more I read it, actually saying "With time on the wane" seemed too formal for me; it was like saying "O.K., I'm going to try and say somehting significant now." And I just hate that. 2) This particular image seems appropriate to the adult/child exchange described here - it sets the stage for coziness and all.
I also moved O.K. up a line for rhythm and image considerations.
And with that, I think I'm done here
9/24
'k - I've made one last change to the order of the italicized spelling words in the last three stanzas. I'm getting really anal retentive here probably and ought to let it go, but, well, I didn't so there. Now it ends with the last three lines of the poem both finishing the rest of the poem, and also standing alone if desired as a complete thought of their own. After she read the poem, my best friend in the whole world said, "I like it" and then she asked - how did I think it would work if it ended with "gripping life", and I thought "Well, lets just see." and I did and I think I like it this way. I think it's notably stronger this way in a couple ways. Soooo at the risk of being irritating I'm going to resend it just this one last time. But that's all for this, I swear.
Dave Prisk
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Comments84
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The formatting is very very lovely and the words are ever better <3
i love the ending.
Corking work <3
i love the ending.
Corking work <3