Sep
28
Well, or titling one of my posts like this… either I’ll guilt him into it or allow him to stumble into it unwittingly…somewhat like the rest of you. Anyway, this is my latest (I haven’t written any poetry in a few months) and I just finished the raw draft today (I started it Wednesday). One of the kiddies inspired it. Any constructive criticism is welcome.
The Lion House
She took me down to the Lion House,
Caught my fingers in her moist little hand,
Led me along the twisting cliffs and craggy granite.
Through cold wet gouges in the earth
we clambered down, down, down
past the steel grey river rushing like arteries.
The silty blood flowing to a great
white wall of water
Thundering, roaring over the mouth of the Lion House.
Tawny wisps of hair clung to her small skull
when we pierced the fluid veil and entered the
deep, dank, dark
smelling of wood smoke and talcum, the Lion House.
The ceiling held me crouched and low in the blackness
while the wee ones whirled ’round roaring,
They gnashed sweet berries in their teeth,
scarlet pulp staining pointy chins and round dimpled cheeks.
Wild eyes pierced me with their light
and my tall frame folded
in on itself, shrinking, melting, twisting.
The hunger grew until I opened my tiny mouth,
Roared the roar of the wee ones,
And took my place in the hallowed halls
Of the Lion House.
She took me down to the Lion House,
Caught my fingers in her moist little hand,
Led me along the twisting cliffs and craggy granite.
Through cold wet gouges in the earth
we clambered down, down, down
past the steel grey river rushing like arteries.
The silty blood flowing to a great
white wall of water
Thundering, roaring over the mouth of the Lion House.
Tawny wisps of hair clung to her small skull
when we pierced the fluid veil and entered the
deep, dank, dark
smelling of wood smoke and talcum, the Lion House.
The ceiling held me crouched and low in the blackness
while the wee ones whirled ’round roaring,
They gnashed sweet berries in their teeth,
scarlet pulp staining pointy chins and round dimpled cheeks.
Wild eyes pierced me with their light
and my tall frame folded
in on itself, shrinking, melting, twisting.
The hunger grew until I opened my tiny mouth,
Roared the roar of the wee ones,
And took my place in the hallowed halls
Of the Lion House.
Again, this is pretty fresh. Most times I put my stuff down and leave it alone for a week or so before looking at it again. But please to give opinions/feedback. ahthankyou.
2 Responses to “The Only Way I’ll Ever Get My Boyfriend to Read My Poetry”
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI
Leave a comment
2:38 am
great stuff korie, glad you are back to writing this kind of stuff, now enter these for publication!!! judie
3:44 am
Thanks for posting Judie! I was getting sort of disheartened by the lack of response, but oh well. I appreciate that you took some time to read my poem!