Blunt Axes

"The delicate brushwood of the bower

Gives haven to the scarlet roses -

The North Winds clatter and die.

Swathed in a haze of twilight scent

Overflowing with pearly dewdrops.

What sultry seduction this is -

Inflaming the frail

Butterflies and quick-tempered bees..."

My heart bursting with over-romanticized longing,

I stroll through these verses, this blissful state.

In a while, my flightiness fades,

My bliss vanishes and does not return.

The blackened ink-moon, depressing enough to slash at my voice,

Descends to a parallel line of vacant imagery -

My words grow old and mildewed.

Reviews

[Kristallo]

Such brilliant eloquence conveyed with richly unique metaphors and surreal-esque imagery. "What sultry seduction is this- inflaming the frail. Butterflies and quick-tempered bees..." Remarkable! I liked that the first paragraph seemed to be a poem that the author was beguiled by, it's written with such a lovely hand. The second, you take a candid approach as you wake up from your 'over-romanticized' languor and reality fades in with a not quite so remarkable candor. "The blackened ink-moon, depressing enough to slash at my voice." How intimately I felt those words, and as I reread them, I felt that i'd glimpsed the shine of your soul within them. I can't imagine that your words should ever 'grow old and mildew' but I did enjoy the way you worded that. Are you worried that your brilliance might someday fade into a blase state of 'being'? You shouldn't. :) Your poetry both humbles my soul and invokes the most powerful imagery in the shape of humanity, it's so touching and true to self. Another great write.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you so much Kris. Your thoughts always mean so much to me -
-xxxxx-

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Rosalind,
why is it so hard for poets to write of beauty and love and good feelings...we always revert back to the easiest subject...pain.
we thrive on it...and when we do write happy stuff...the darkness is just below the surface.

terrific imagery in this piece...even that which we don't see on the surface...

[Androglossia]

Because we can twist words into any shape of our liking. Breathtaking point of view with a sharp turn. I liked the sharp turn more. You are brilliant.

[Ruth]

Oh my!!!

This is sensational writing...the first part a walk through heaven, tangibly so :) The second part, all things must and do change within a breath...

"The blackened ink-moon, depressing enough to slash at my voice,
Descends to a parallel line of vacant imagery -
My words grow old and mildewed."

Absolutely took my breath away!

xoxo

[Rosalind Gale]

-xoxoxo-

[TheJordBaker]

truly fantastic. your craft and abstractly elegant words are inspirational and this is a great and clever write!! one I can relate to as well.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you so very much - your words mean too, a great deal.
-xx-

[New Dawn]

Some beautiful imagery and so so true, why is always ten times harder to write something uplifting with even a hint of happiness. Perhaps the blackened ink moon is a required presence to produce powerful poetry. Great write as always.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you my friend -
-xx-

[Kayla]

I can completely relate to this. I know the feeling of the "flightiness" fading. I especially admire how you wrote a poem within a poem in which the speaker could share her amazement.

[Rosalind Gale]

-xxx-

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

This is unique and amazing! I understand the "stroll through...this blissful state" only to find myself once again descending " to a parallel line of vacant imagery -"...how well you paint with your pen. This speaks to me of how I feel when I find some wonderful lines I had written earlier, and then try to work with them - only to discover I cannot find that wonderful feeling I had when I wrote them.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you!
-xx-

[Leslie Philibert]

What I really like is the richness of the imagery, and the , so to say, poem in a poem in the second verse, I really like poetry about poetry, and this is a fine work.

[Rosalind Gale]

-xxxx-

[icaros13]

I was flying forty thousand feet above the desert.
A storm was approaching below.
With the Sun's reflection,
It looked as if it were raining rainbows.
For a moment, I was free.
Then I thought of how she would want to paint it.

[Rosalind Gale]

-XXXX-