Morning

[Riesa]

Dark, warm.
Morning.
Resenting rustling, your curses,
I fall dreaming again;

Tripping like a puppy
In rubble; I'm in dreams
Loping across
Caribbean beaches
Storms in hammocks;
Naked, in our cups,
Disguised in sand.
A field of wild yellow grass,
Mown by white-tail does.
Crimson river raging,
Bearing ships, with golden sails.

Shoreline of Grackles
Scolding, waking me;
Blue field claims my gaze
Lugging Mexican lilies
On my back I submerge,
Separating me from us.

A murmur, traveling my eyes, my mouth,
The room, fragrant with coffee.
Waking, reaching for you,
Grasping thick wool, cool linen,
Your head, your face,
Sharing this room,
This life, this bed.
This gentle thought,
Your touch
Bringing me home.

Struggling,
Regaining sleep;
My dream.
An ocean,
Viridian glass lures the size of boulders,
A shifting floating graveyard.
Reflecting the blinking stars,
The burning sun.

Plate-glass cliffs,
A thousand stories high
Riddled with cenotes.
I’m in a cave, diving underground rivers
A thousand pecking fish, seeking
Sustenance in air bubbles.

Dry, standing; I lean, look out
Peering through plate glass walls;
A thousand stories down
The ocean roars;
Giant glass elephants,
Scattered and rusting in low tide.
The walls give way,
I tumble, wake.
You’ve gone.

[Xamonas Chegwe]

Lovely - very dreamlike.

[Virgil]

I like it very much, Riesa. My favorite lines:

Crimson river raging,
Bearing ships, with golden sails.

This stanza feels very honest:


A murmur, traveling my eyes, my mouth,
The room, fragrant with coffee.
Waking, reaching for you,
Grasping thick wool, cool linen,
Your head, your face,
Sharing this room,
This life, this bed.
This gentle thought,
Your touch
Bringing me home.

Now if you don't mind a few suggestions to improve. And these are more preference than true criticism:


Tripping like a puppy
In rubble;
I love dogs and pups, and have been around them for a while, and yet I really don't have a visual for a pup tripping in rubble. The image isn't clear to me.

Grass "mown" by does. It's a bit of a stretch for me. Unless the metaphor really critical to the poem...

"Riddled with cenotes." I like "cenotes" but "riddled" just echoes with "riddled with bullets".

Like I said these are just preferences. They may sound perfect to your ear.


I love the way you end it too"
Giant glass elephants,
Scattered and rusting in low tide.
The walls give way,
I tumble, wake.
You’ve gone.

The language just makes you tumble with it.

[Riesa]

Virgil, thanks for the comments, so kindly put; I just watched Bula tripping over his paws on a rock the other day, so I liked the image, but I have to admit, if I was to get rid of anything it would be that line, mostly because Tripping doesn't go very well with my image of cozy sleep. I just left it because I like Bula. The rest, well, they're dream images, meant to be contradictory; although I'm sure there's loads of room to improve. It's just my first go; and I appreciate the criticism.

Thank You, Xamonas.

[Virgil]

[QUOTE=Riesa]Virgil, thanks for the comments, so kindly put; I just watched Bula tripping over his paws on a rock the other day, so I liked the image, but I have to admit, if I was to get rid of anything it would be that line, mostly because Tripping doesn't go very well with my image of cozy sleep. I just left it because I like Bula. The rest, well, they're dream images, meant to be contradictory; although I'm sure there's loads of room to improve. It's just my first go; and I appreciate the criticism.
QUOTE]
I would keep the tripping somehow, though. It foreshadows the ending.