"august"

[BabyGrace]

she feels it all come together
beneath her with lamented prayers
she's waited so long in the scattered glow her visions
over clouds filled with sundance
of a full moon
he holds her so close
and promises he will always be there
be there and she trusts the wholeness
in his words with child-like wanting
for children they yet are

in the cluttered desolation she'll scream
to believe
she would give her soul and he feeds
all tenderness, no mercy
drinking the wretched blood of innocense
tapping her veins to fill his lust for what he's long since buried
and in a glimpse he catches it before it slips away again
before he leaves his tainted mark on her open face
and she will carry his scars, still burning upon his back

in the last throes of her childhood's death
she lays still, not realizing he's already left her side
she'll dream up a thousand reasons why he doesn't care
play a thousand games hoping he'll come back to her
but at the end of the day when she closes her eyes
she'll only blame herself.

 

[The Wanderer]

this poem is quite sad, I think it reflects something that has always tormented youth, or more accurately perhaps -- eviscerated youth, innocence; it's so ironic at this moment because I was just reading this poem by Sylvia Plath that she had written at a very young age, right before I read yours, and your poem immediately reminded me of some of the things she was expressing...

"Moonsong at Morning"

O moon of illusion,
enchanting men
with tinsel vision
along with vein,

cocks crow up a rival
to mock your face
and eclipse that oval
which conjured us

to leave our reason
and come to this
fabled horizon
of caprice.

Dawn shall dissever
your silver veil
which let lover think lover
beautiful;

the light of logic
will show us that
all moonstruck magic
is dissolute:

no sweet disguises
withstand the stare
whose candor exposes
love's paling sphere.

In gardens of squalor
the sleepers wake
as their golden jailer
turns the rack;

each sacred body
night yielded up
is mangled by study
of microscope:

facts have blasted
the angel's frame
and stern truth twisted
the radiant limb.

Reflect in terror
the scorching sun:
drive at your mirror
and drown within.

--
your poems are always something special nikki

 

[BabyGrace]

each sacred body
night yielded up
is mangled by study
of microscope:

facts have blasted
the angel's frame
and stern truth twisted
the radiant limb.

I've read pieces of this poem that you've quoted before but I've never seen the whole thing. It's perfect, thanks Craig.

 

[The Wanderer]

I've never actually quoted that poem before, I read it for the first time yesterday, after having just purchased her complete collection of poems...

btw, turn on ESPN2, there's a good game on

 

[BabyGrace]

I know I've read that first stanza I quoted somewhere before and I was sure you'd quoted it but nevermind..

well 5-0 over the Blues the other night aint half bad either so I guess we'll just have to wait for April huh?

 

[LarryMullen's POPAngel]

This is an amazing poem, BG.

I always like reading your work.

------------------
You can tear it up
If you can tie me down

 

[ACROB@T]

very beautiful BG, you have an imagination I'd kill for

tapping her veins to fill his lust for what he's long since buried
and in a glimpse he catches it before it slips away again
before he leaves his tainted mark on her open face
and she will carry his scars, still burning upon his back

 

[BabyGrace]

sorry to bring this up again, but Id been meaning to thank you Popangel and Acro. All of you are always so kind