stitches and seams and crooked paws

[paperleaves]

Hello to all :) It has been a day or two since I've written anything, mainly because I've been studying for my Pharmacy Technician Certification Board Test. Thanks to endless pots of chamomile tea and severe dedication, as of 6pm I am now a Certified Pharmacy Technician! Hoorah:nod: Just wanted to share that with everyone. Now for poem #354:

unveiled in sapphire creases, rippled between the night's long sighs
endless quails in crowing left their feathers all to die
and naked we were born to dust and naked we will writhe
when we write ourselves our deathbeds
make sure the verses are in rhyme
she wailed as golden tendrils beamed from underneath the sun
scorching the palette of nightmares curtained and divine
and when she spoke in salty waters her fins refused to flee
some of us can't leave home because the land
is our stuck beneath our feet
in dust and chalk and coat racks
we danced with ghosts in summer clothes
and every time the sun went down, the wine turned into gold
feasting on the riches, darkness wept in vibrant sepulchre
the spectres flew from dusk to dawn
i remember all their lips
i remember all the newspaper clippings
the obituaries, the stocks, the weather,
hot berry nights aggregated in syrup
the channels are sticky and red with our glue
and when we sit down and contemplate the chase
i hope we can jolt up from slumber
and lucidly
finish the race

[~Sophia~]

and when she spoke in salty waters her fins refused to flee
some of us can't leave home because the land
is our stuck beneath our feet
in dust and chalk and coat racks
we danced with ghosts in summer clothes


Hi paperleaves! I've thoroughly been mesmerized by all the poems of yours that I've read. Just wanted to let you know I loved the lines above and, thanks!

[qimissung]

This one in particular reminds me of Lewis Carroll. You are a conjurer of images, paperleaves.

[paperleaves]

Thank you :)
I appreciate all your comments. Another late night...always leads to more poetry.
355

imbued contrition, severed at the flame of the ignition,
ignorant insects swirling in peppered glory
impervious to the light, their strife sells signals
through pleural planes and wheezing syllables, emphatic waves and
endless ecstasies
alliteration, where have you gone? greased in gnats and goldenrod,
the plates crash in the hall
i am sinking and i am breathing
in you
youth and herbal origami, twisted teeth and appendages
the bone palace ballet is real of which he foretold
in bedsheets bled and bandaged we can heal the wounds we keep
and if you let me
my tattooed ribs will bear the news
a parable far too true, written in shears of black and blue
.
.
.
and i awake to coffins seeping with magritte's madness

[MorpheusSandman]

paperleaves; I swear, each poem of yours is like the most rare and delectable dish, and I read each as slow as possible so to savor each word. Every piece feels like an event unto itself. Maybe one can't make a living these days from being a poet, but if you've never been published, or don't get published, it will be a dire crime. Selecting favorite pieces or lines of yours is like an exercise in futility because at least 75% of them I would consider THE highlight in a piece if I had written it, but, some of my favorites from the above:

and naked we were born to dust and naked we will writhe
...
scorching the palette of nightmares curtained and divine
...
some of us can't leave home because the land
is our stuck beneath our feet
...
we danced with ghosts in summer clothes
and every time the sun went down, the wine turned into gold
...
and when we sit down and contemplate the chase
i hope we can jolt up from slumber
and lucidly
finish the race

--------------

ignorant insects swirling in peppered glory
...
the plates crash in the hall (so out of left field; this one really struck me!)
...
a parable far too true, written in shears of black and blue
...
and i awake to coffins seeping with magritte's madness

"Magritte's madness" made me think of Gounod's Faust where a girl named Margueritte goes mad and dies in the end... just a coincidence, I assume?

[PrinceMyshkin]

Absolutely marvelous how you begin with this succession of rhymes or half, slant rhymes: sighs / die / writhe / rhyme... and then to unspool these wild, images, lines that resonate, e.g.
"she wailed as golden tendrils beamed from underneath the sun
scorching the palette of nightmares curtained and divine"

and

"and every time the sun went down, the wine turned into gold
feasting on the riches, darkness weeped in vibrant sepulchre"

(wouldn't "weeped" be better off as "wept"?)

Glorious poem!

[paperleaves]

MorpheusSandman, thank you again for your kind comments! In fact, the last line is in reference to French painter Rene Magritte, in a famous work of his where businessmen fall as raindrops. Fascinating similarity, though, I will have to read up on that :)

And Jer, I can not express to you how much it means to me to hear your comments! How else would I perfect my work? Yes, thank you, wept would be the correct way of writing it, must have been tired or something ^_^ Thank you so much!

[JacobF]

unveiled in sapphire creases, rippled between the night's long sighs
endless quails in crowing left their feathers all to die
and naked we were born to dust and naked we will writhe
when we write ourselves our deathbeds
make sure the verses are in rhyme
she wailed as golden tendrils beamed from underneath the sun
scorching the palette of nightmares curtained and divine
and when she spoke in salty waters her fins refused to flee
some of us can't leave home because the land
is our stuck beneath our feet
in dust and chalk and coat racks
we danced with ghosts in summer clothes
and every time the sun went down, the wine turned into gold
feasting on the riches, darkness wept in vibrant sepulchre
the spectres flew from dusk to dawn
i remember all their lips
i remember all the newspaper clippings
the obituaries, the stocks, the weather,
hot berry nights aggregated in syrup
the channels are sticky and red with our glue
and when we sit down and contemplate the chase
i hope we can jolt up from slumber
and lucidly
finish the race

I've probably read this about four times now, and I keep coming back to it; the images just melt my mind into complete submission. I'm not much of a poetry buff -- I do have a favourite poet (Saul Williams) and I certainly enjoy reading poetry -- but it's just not a medium, unlike short stories, that I absolutely love. However, I absolutely love this poem. It's remarkable in its vividness, it reeled me out to another place when I read it, yet it was sobering in how genuine it came across.

My favourite lines:

"and naked we were born to dust and naked we will writhe"
"and when she spoke in salty waters her fins refused to flee"
"we danced with ghosts in summer clothes"
"hot berry nights aggregated in syrup"

[paperleaves]

Thank you, JacobF! I don't mean to sound ignorant, but I have never read Saul Williams, I must check him out.
Writer's block created 356#:


i cannot write tonight.
the dishwasher is too loud.
or perhaps it is the neighbor's dog,
maybe the washer? the dryer?
the fact that i'm almost out of coffee grounds,
i'm late on my credit card payment, or that my boss wants to fire me
because i was late last sunday? or
maybe
just maybe, it could be
you.

[MorpheusSandman]

It's odd to see you write a piece of such everyday sobriety absent of your surrealist imagery; I really like it though, a small gem. I especially love the part about not being able to write because of the washer, because I've been there many times where it either keeps me from reading or writing. All of this, of course, can simply be rationalizations for something deeper we want to ignore, which I think you express superbly in the end.

[Virgil]

Nice to see you back Paperleaves. Best of luck with your degree. That's got to be your first priority. :)