the taste of hazelnut coffee is
---the ribbon wrapped around the rain
---the autumn echoes
------its first footsteps peel the leaves
softly it settles upon her shoulders
---a Persian cat curled 'round her soul
---the cup gives her the taste,
------she returns lipstick
---------plum red on alabaster
------------porcelain and skin
and she is waiting
---thinking hard on something
---cup clutched in her hands like
------a bird that might fly
------or fall like leaves that
------rain and gravity might fell;
---------death their only voyage in life,
---------sidelong in the wind
---fly or fall,
------she is waiting
A poet too!? [sigh] It's lovely. : )
ReplyDeleteThanks... you should read the bales of barf poetry I have left over from high school.
ReplyDeleteQuantity! Not quality! :)
This is very good. Really very good.
ReplyDeleteI, too, have bales of barf poetry. All that teen angst, all those notebooks to fill. :)
I, too, have bales of barf poetry. All that teen angst, all those notebooks to fill. :)
ReplyDeleteYes, indeed... here's a prime example, plucked at random, from a longer piece called "Belaboured Contrivance" from September 18, 1986...
...
You men of Oxford English taught
What within you makes you strive
To contrive a sentance [sic], opus, or such a piece
As to encumber and confuse more plebian minds?
...
Yeah... you don't say, buddy. Man, I hope this was an early attempt at irony... but somehow I doubt it. :)