
12-12-2009, 10:57 PM
((I'm Triple Posting Because It's Such A Long Poem))
Letters To Him Pt 1
I. First Letter – Mise en Scene
Dust impact severs battered cloth restraints-
stripping the journal of all privacy.
I write to you with busted locks, damp paints,
blotted kisses and new found memory
etched in dewed grasses. I’m still unable
to garden daffodils and not notice
your umbra like a bad green house effect.
Pictures; faces infected with mold mists,
are but fuel to their nitrogen-rich soil.
I’m following the caterpillar trails,
finding Spanish moss about to spoil
the daisies in the living room; dwellings
made of feathers and sticks from birds hoarding
our papers efflux over walnut courts.
II. – En Famille
Our papers efflux over walnut courts
so here I write you on gilded leaves
seamed and bound in leather hide. Mushrooms wart
walls trickling dewy outlines of sleeves.
Carpeted stairs track tiny faun hoof prints through
infested oak doors to rutted, paper walls.
See! Families overran here, lasted; grew
like our scrapbooks ingrained to shelves all
webbed together by the spider eggs laid
in out stretched butterflies swaying in spring
breezes - things you swore to exterminate.
Or maybe you meant the pinked and sheared things
in the fire pit ashes, lining frayed,
so overgrown ivy greens air raid.
III. – Terrible Laissez Faire
So overgrown, ivy greens air raid
hothouses eclipsing a swing romance.
It’s ropes unbraided, bolted to nightshade
as Venus’ jaws uprooted the chance
to bloom jilted eyes photosynthesized
in yesteryear. Brick paths pebble Amazon grass
now. The Crab Apple went hermit and hides
against gasping riverbeds let go last
August when the Willow wept it bursting
against the hush we left. Weather beaten brush
dances gypsy light bugs retelling firsts
and lasts. The seeds quenched, waiting for the rush
of tangled limbs to till virgin lands, tort
the passion savored once as pages warp.
IV. – Coup de Maitre
The passion savored once as pages warp
cradles against fresh threads. Coal covered canvas
basted in oil stands in for wood short
of tint. Powder blue ceilings stretch and kiss
paint tipped forest green chandeliers sunning
the dinning table set for midday tea
as you had planted in daily routine.
The gardener asked where you stayed leaving me
to stutter a clumsy smile. I swayed
in the chitchat pedaling old time talk.
His hair has peppered, his memory hazed.
All the while I felt your felt tips walk
over my sea foam skirts, goose bumped skin craved
and crumpled under fingers; flowers raved.
V. – Jeunesse Doree
And crumpled under fingers, flowers raved
greetings pollinating an already
well nourished stamen sending buzzes. Caved
in and caught red cheeked, we perfumed that May
with luscious scandals and forget-me
-not petals followed by shoes, socks, and shirts
with each breath making the humidity
melt like the thick brittle blankets we skirt
-ed to. I remember the 'I love yous'
scribbled across black and white photographs
time-lined over the year. Dandelions strewed
across our handfasting. Giggling past
fear of running free to our new home mocked
in multihued moss sheets you had debauched.
Last edited by Lovers Never Tell; 12-12-2009 at 11:00 PM..
|