Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I ain't moved none.

My arms been still
as a shut jack blade,
my look been soft on you
as a barber chair shave;
I don't want nothing
from you. Yeah, maybe

I look your way, maybe not
at your eyes right first;
maybe I watch you move
'neath that silk, maybe I like
your bounce, wonder
what you got ...

A moment ago I began
a poem and its first line
was: "You, too, have known
the promise of rain."

But I marked that through.
I mean,
who are you? And who am I
to think I know
your mind? Even now, I
bring you here assuming
you care at all
what I have to say. Odds are
you don't.

Where I sit as I ...

Oh, my goodness, Ms Peri...

I enjoyed this so!

So very wonderful. Thank you!

I've been followed from the burning
by a thing I will not turn to see,
but choose instead to dream her up
from the darkful, sleeping depths
of me. Thus, I've lit her steps

with sparks of hurry and forged
her breathing from the brands,
and from the hissing of the smoldered
coals I saw there seething ...

Very nicely done!

This is one of the better offerings I've read
at this site as of late.

I like the way you have crafted the line-breaks
and the strophe arrangement. And it's somehow
timely and timeless simultaneously; not an easy
trick-- most poems err too far to one side or the
other, but yours ...

On the ride home
you lower the window
and the air hushes down
the low throb of song.

You are warm beneath your dress.
Your hands lay in folds
in the heat of your lap.

Before I came you doused my wife's
"Joy" on the soft of your thigh.
You are tinged with sweat and secrets.
I breathe a deep, slow ...

"I am no brighter... than a doodle of the sun."

Quite quotable!

I will remember that line!

Personally, I like those Oh's.

Very musical piece (appropriately); I do like
the way it reads aloud. Performable. Nice
sound.

"...six roses
red like her lips' and the passionate words
you want to say before
she falls asleep
alone"

That's a strong, strong closing. That made the poem
happen (for me).

I also like how you began things, in that way that says
(without directly stating): "This is a poem. It is not merely ...

...dust thou art,
and unto dust
shalt thou return." --Book of Genesis



It whispers about him in the field,
gathers in drifts where soles light

to earth, tumbles in grit
among the leaves of his cup.

Come dusk, his lambs wander
the rows floured, shake soft

clouds from the fleece, bleat
for him ...

Indeed!

Your poem reminds me of a passage:

“The truth about the world, he said, is that anything is possible. Had you not seen it all from birth and thereby bled it of its strangeness it would appear to you for what it is, a hat trick in a medicine show, a fevered dream, a trance bepopulate with ...

Hell yeah.

Those last three lines sing. I hear that music. I do.

I am absolutely thrilled that you have been encouraged
to read Ackroyd. Thank you!

(after P. Ackroyd)

And so he will go to dance
among the beggars' fires
and seek the secrets
of their sleep among the lintels,

and he will learn what dreams
come beneath the lamp-
light most times linger
on at waking, that they mat

and tangle in a burn and an itch
of lice and burr. And he
will ...