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E R G O M A N I A .. S U P I N E N E S S

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2012-09-20 22:23

hair spun in the weave of air
we are rushing in the last of summer breath
our landscape climb
like a wave primed

dark and hungry as the night
while sunlight scatters
at its edge
that races

a great weight
chasing us in dreams

I hear the cry through all
the miles
and hold my breath
awake
waiting for the fall
like snow breaking free of a tin
roof

Our avalanche of words
frothing
we place palm up
to catch the rain

and palm down
to feel winters
velvet cold touch
the crystal wonder
gliding against the
vein ridged over
bones and the thin
skin naked without
gloves

like our ghosts we heed
like this love we need
on an inner pocket
against a breast
against the ear
of our hesitant heart

yet believers of miracles

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

Esker

Thu, 2012-09-20 22:25

Esker's picture

i cant write the depth I feel
all I have are words

and these belong for you
this poem is yours

author comment

Ian.T

Fri, 2012-09-21 03:03

Ian.T's picture
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Your words flow, as do your thoughts, feelings that you portray though not to the depth you want, but to us the reader they are deep enough.
I always try to look at the inside of a rose, if you can see that, then expand the feeling outward, then the multitude of feelings will grow as the bud changes each moment until full bloom, but each to their own.

On your first Stanza:-

hair spun in the weave of air
we are rushing in the last of summer breath
our landscape climb
like a wave primed

All that I could see was that the odd word needed an "S" at the end to bind the flow, but on reading it a few times, maybe not, what do you think??
Great write , Yours Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

Esker

Fri, 2012-09-21 07:27

Esker's picture

it changes it very much with an added "s" in a read

author comment

Nordic cloud

Sun, 2012-09-23 04:34

Nordic cloud's picture

Wind tossed wild visions
wobbling in the foam
of your words

transported

into the sky's reflections,

I do so enjoy your
salmon-lept poems
that grab all the senses
and wrench out all elements
of appreciation.

Love your thoughts, love to you wild wolf, Ann.
((NB NO e mail at the moment!! Bother))

"The image of yourself which you see in a mirror Is dead,
but the reflection of the moon on water, lives." Kenzan.

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