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Literature Text
In every grain of billowed sand,
In every drop of aurora dew,
In every flake of withered flint
And every leaf of an aging Yew,
In a solitary nook that lies long forgotten
Or a deserted niche, so vacouous and void,
She awaits with forbearance rivaling those
Who have looked into the Gorgon's oculi,
Lighter than a feather,
Oh lighter than a zephyr,
Yet no baton, bullet or blade
Can ever touch her,
When we are callously abdicated
And forsaken in the pouring rain
A quiet melifluous voice says
"Fret not, for I shall remain",
She has no home, no resting abode
Nisi jarred hearts and jagged souls,
Yet she is not a tramp, a hauntless hobo
Always ubiquitous to the alone,
She is a drop of rain in the relentless desert,
A teeny isle in the torrential sea,
She is the brightest star in the darkest night,
The ulterior tutelary of you and me,
So when vile voluptous villianous luck,
That perpetually equivocating fiend
Leaves you in a nightmare within a dream
And moves on to flirt with another destiny,
Or fair faith
That sweet surrender of all our senses,
That blindfolded path to the gates of paradise,
In its finale, leads us to a cul de sac:
Remember
There still is
And always will be
Hope.
In every drop of aurora dew,
In every flake of withered flint
And every leaf of an aging Yew,
In a solitary nook that lies long forgotten
Or a deserted niche, so vacouous and void,
She awaits with forbearance rivaling those
Who have looked into the Gorgon's oculi,
Lighter than a feather,
Oh lighter than a zephyr,
Yet no baton, bullet or blade
Can ever touch her,
When we are callously abdicated
And forsaken in the pouring rain
A quiet melifluous voice says
"Fret not, for I shall remain",
She has no home, no resting abode
Nisi jarred hearts and jagged souls,
Yet she is not a tramp, a hauntless hobo
Always ubiquitous to the alone,
She is a drop of rain in the relentless desert,
A teeny isle in the torrential sea,
She is the brightest star in the darkest night,
The ulterior tutelary of you and me,
So when vile voluptous villianous luck,
That perpetually equivocating fiend
Leaves you in a nightmare within a dream
And moves on to flirt with another destiny,
Or fair faith
That sweet surrender of all our senses,
That blindfolded path to the gates of paradise,
In its finale, leads us to a cul de sac:
Remember
There still is
And always will be
Hope.
Literature
Everything You Borrowed
On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.
When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.
Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.
After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.
Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to
Literature
What I Lost
“I lost a finger,” Dolph proclaimed in a manner of startling, distant normality to his father, who had just ghosted by him into the kitchen to find something. His father paused like a clogged clock and spun suddenly on a hinge to see and confirm, and Dolph held up his hand to reveal his organic matter’s metallic replacement. “It’s just the pinky one.”
His father sluggishly pulled up a chair and printed sentences and fragments streamed from the printing compartment on his patchwork-junk face which Dolph had labored so fiercely to build and jumpstart over three years ago. Dolph reached for the re
Literature
Midnight Thought Process
Perhaps the trees live so long because they have no idea how long they've been around.
I stood with my wine glass and cigarette staring into the night as I heard the sound of fireworks, I wondered if the giant tree before me knew it was new years. There is nothing different from 11:59 to 12:00 yet we feel like it's a world away, because we judge many things in time, and we keep track of time in years.
I sat hugging a pillow, watching a 4 month old baby sleeping during his dream-feed and I wondered if the baby knew it was a boy. There is nothing different from a boy baby and a girl baby yet we feel like we have to define them because we judg
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“All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honor; duty; mercy; hope”
~ Winston Churchill
~ Winston Churchill
© 2011 - 2024 Zark123
Comments19
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Overall Vision
Originality
Technique ImpactFirst, I have to say-- I'm impressed. There are a lot of poems about hope out there, many of which personify it as a woman, but you did a remarkable job of making the theme your own. Your language is as beautiful and captivating as ever. You have a fantastic lexicon, and you use it to a very natural and evoking effect. Your imagery, too, is wonderful. And I believe I've mentioned this before in another of your pieces, but you have a old-fashioned touch to your choice of words that I cannot help but adore. Overall, these things give your poems a real beauty that stands out among other deviations.
The first critique I would like to make is that the poem is a tad rambling. One idea flows into the next, which they aren't quite similar enough to do since you are going from a description of hope to a scenario of despair to an assurance that hope is still there. I would suggest perhaps dappling the work with a period here or there to separate these elements. For example, after the word "oculi" and again after the phrase "Can ever touch her," to give you an idea of what I mean. It may be that you find a different way to resolve this or disagree entirely, but that would be my suggestion.
My second critique is that there is a line very close to the end that is a little awkward. "That perpetually equivocating fiend," reads just fine in my mind because I glide over the word 'equivocating', but to say it out loud or pronounce the syllables in your head is tricky. It's a bit too callous and jagged a word for the smooth form your poetry takes, and I think it sticks out more as a break in the rhythm for it.
Lastly, I think you should break the last four lines off into a separate stanza. They are very powerful words, but as they are they aren't quite as poignant because they are attached to the rest of the work. I think it would behoove you to add a colon after "sac" and then add your powerful summation to the poem. (Which I really, really liked, by the way.)
So there you have my views in regard to this gorgeous piece of yours. It was really hard critiquing rather than giving you a lengthy rant about my admiration, but there you are. I hope that my suggestions prove helpful or amusing to you, and that I will see more poetry from you in the future. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
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