We contemplated politics
Passed through Picasso
Jumped blind into our desires.
Spent the day in bed
Quilted with a primitive engage
Then sank into the night.
It was all moving too fast
Two engines colliding head on
No turning, no stopping, no break.
We wobbled on a tight-rope,
Arms flung out, buckling under
The first impressions of love
But as quickly as it came
It went even quicker
Spiralling off into the night.
A flock of vultures swooped down
The moment I saw your morals
Clear like blood on your hands.
Great poem. Strong images throughout. I really like stanzas 2,4,6.
ReplyDeleteOh!
ReplyDeleteThank you Mensing, I should make the imagery in stanza 5 tighter though.
ReplyDeletevisceral, direct, almost primitive with a nudge of elegance at the right moment
ReplyDeleteHello! Just discovered your poem through the Cultural Literary magazine... it is powerful, fantastic to have captured something painful in something beautiful. Keep writing :) I love your header too - fashion and poetry, what's not to love?! Where was the picture taken? I always imagine Paradise as a kind of library too ;)
ReplyDeleteMerci Mike :-D
ReplyDelete@Shaista, I'm happy to be discovered by you! Such a perceptive critique, '... to have captured something painful in something beautiful.' But equally true is, '... to have captured something beautiful in something painful.' Unfortunately Edvard Munch is true when saying,
'What is art?
Art grows from joy and sorrow.
But mostly from sorrow.
It grows from human lives.'
The picture was taken at the grandaunt's house of a friend. With books from floor to ceiling, on every wall, the house is what Jorge Borges describes as 'Paradise'!
I will be visiting your blog of prose&poetry from now on too!