Girl With No Sunglasses

[Kelly_Sprout]

She peels her crayons
To feel the waxy smooth
On her fingertips
As hand and color draw away.

She eats a mango
Straight off the seed,
Wet pulp like a spiked hairdo
Reaching for her lips,
As hand and fruit draw away.

"This is real!" she says,
Juice running down her wrist
and dripping from her elbow.

She slips her panties off
From beneath her sun dress,
For the breeze is warm
And must not be ignored.
"Life," she says, "shouldn't be
A platinum coin clad in copper."

Urgent traffic on the boulevard
Dances the urban shuffle
With pedestrians in crosswalks
To the syncopated beat of
Walk -- Don't Walk
She says, "Do you hear that music?"

I pull my sunglasses
Down the bridge of my nose
To watch her laugh.

[Kelly_Sprout]

I should have stated, I suppose, that I like receiving comments. It doesn't matter to me if you like what I post, hate it, were bored and unable to finish it, want more, have suggestions, write a literary analysis, mock it, or just say, "Hi, I read your stuff". You can be kind; you can be vicious; you can be superior; you can even be blase. None of it offends me and all of it is interesting to me. Please, if the spirit moves you, please comment.

[caesar]

Hi, I read you stuff. I liked it. It's good. Some may not like your making her take off her panties but I think those lines are really appealing. And the last paragraph is even better. You poem, as I read, seemed to get better and better. Keep it up, buddy.

PS. 'The girl with no sunglasses' is a great metaphorical title.

[Kelly_Sprout]

Thank you, caesar

[jon1jt]

Kelly this is a damn good poem, damn good! You got the gift!!!!

"This is real!" she says,"[/B] and "She says, "Do you hear that music?""
This is the kind of very simple, subtle, yet infinitiely relevant lines that open up the personality of the poem! I love the entire poem, and this one my new favorite forum poem next to Xamonas Chegwe's "Sad Girl on a Bus" which I highly recommend fellow forumites.

Here are some expressively forceful lines, incessantly playful:

Wet pulp like a spiked hairdo

Juice running down her wrist
and dripping from her elbow.

[B]Life," she says, "shouldn't be
A platinum coin clad in copper."

This stanza oozes with rhythm and flows like honey and is absolutely brilliant:

Urgent traffic on the boulevard
Dances the urban shuffle
With pedestrians in crosswalks
To the syncopated beat of
Walk -- Don't Walk
She says, "Do you hear that music?"

There is some potent imagery too:
Reaching for her lips,
As hand and fruit draw away.
She peels her crayons
To feel the waxy smooth

Kelly, quit your day job if you're not a writer and write, write, write because it's a matter of time before your work is out there, or, maybe it's already out there, in which case the world is a better place, and that's the highest damn compliment I can pay a fellow writer. Look forward to reading more of your work, Kelly.

[Kelly_Sprout]

Wow, thank you, Jon. That was some compliment!

I do have a day job...
...but I am writing!