What watchdogs lie in the eternal furnace
Of your mind?
When lazy Sundays
Stalk your dreams and
The friends you gather
Like lost coins
As your tired skin cracks with cold.
What pathways to
Oblivion do you seek?
When you cry alone at night
And feign to care
That summer has come with its million glances.
Cut by the loss
That you built
A long time ago.
You make this process seem easy, Richard, when I am well aware it isn't.ReplyDelete
I completely agree with Quin, I used to write poetry, but it cuts too deeply and makes me reflect too much on myself, which is why I quit writing it to be honest.ReplyDelete
This was like a sharp knife, it cuts deep to the core and makes you reflect - not only on the narrator, but also on a personal level.
A great read to say the least.
questioning is good, pathways like obsidian.. very quirky RichardReplyDelete
Haunting counsel, this.ReplyDelete
Well done, Richard, personal and poignant.ReplyDelete
This is the kinda stuff I like.Its real and reminds me of what I try and write.ReplyDelete
Lyrical, resonant and all too real. This piece hit nerves with fine-china instruments. Exquisite work.ReplyDelete
Like all of your writing, your poetry is lovely and inspiring. My primary focus is on writing fiction and I hope, as we previously discussed, that you've gotten my novel, Whispers from St. Mary's Well, from amazon.com. After reading it, I'm sure you'll get copies for all the chicks in your life - chicks like mothers, sisters, gal-pals, and girlfriends or wives. Anyway, despite my love of writing fiction, I wrote my first poem when I was seven. Later, I wrote the poem, "Israeli Oxymoron" at 3 o'clock in the morning, after returning from an Interfaith Mission to Israel. It was published in a literary magazine, but I don't write poetry for publication. I write it simply to sort through my images and emotions. I like all of your writing, including your poetry. I look forward to hearing from you about my novel, and someday, I'll share the poem I wrote when I was seven with you, because I like getting a giggle, and it's a silly little ditty. Carol KennyReplyDelete
This has a Frost feel to it in its pentameter. Good rhythm. This poem reads like it should be a bit longer, though. When you said you'd written a poem, I thought, "oh I don't know if I see that in his writing." But you surprised me here.ReplyDelete
From this, Richard, I can say, you write from the heart with the same power with which you move your fiction pieces!ReplyDelete