A bouquet of fresh poems

[PerGessle]

Remembrance of Young Girls in Flower

I

The aloof poplar knows well, the conjoined shadows of us two,
Drooping in woe, your bobbed hair lacquered with ebony hue.
I too remember, with ache, your tender eyes' twinkling blue.

Blue. 'Cause one should reckon the moonlight's flaxen wetness,
The reticulation of the breeze, envoloping your round face,
And the autumn reflected chromatically in the river's trace.

I was so proud of life, and your ivory hand of grace,
Your dimples as clear-cut as crescents of pale blaze,
That I couldn't help crying out in lucid daze.

II

The darkness engulfed the body of the beau.
Stray rays sifted through the gauzed window,
Finding a woeful Eden, with creases in the sheet,
The tousled linen, and your cold pale compact feet.

The room was deep in its smooth trance.
Fire detector on the ceiling leered at us askance.
I sensed again the past surging within my chest,
With agony and ache, I palmed your neat breast.



Rain in the city

The lusty shower recolored the glistening street,
With broken mirrors all over the place,
Brimming skies, fresh greenery,
and reflected feet.
Suddenly I want to see your little face.


Yet Another Morning

Another morning. The remembered sun,
Golden, dazzling, and furry at the edge,
Splashed majestically in the bed, and gone
Was the light dream, in its warm fledge.

[hallaig]

"The room was deep in its smooth trance.
Fire detector on the ceiling leered at us askance."

Though some of your rhymes are fine, many of them are forced, as the above example shows. You obviously have a facility and ingenuity with language but you shouldnae restrict yourself to this neo-classical tomfoolery which produces some very odd stuff "I palmed your neat breast" for instance, and "reflected chromatically in the river's trace". Free yourself!

[PerGessle]

"The room was deep in its smooth trance.
Fire detector on the ceiling leered at us askance."

Though some of your rhymes are fine, many of them are forced, as the above example shows. You obviously have a facility and ingenuity with language but you shouldnae restrict yourself to this neo-classical tomfoolery which produces some very odd stuff "I palmed your neat breast" for instance, and "reflected chromatically in the river's trace". Free yourself!

Thanks for your kind reminding. However I am still obsessed with what you termed "neo-classical", and this is partly because I am unsatisfied with loose and spontaneous poetics. My aesthetics in literature is predominantly influenced by authors like Rimbaud, Proust, and above all, Nabokov. I think since poetry is meant to be essentially "useless" in the practical sense, it should therefore contain an element of magic, impossibility and supreme loveache. My stuff is short in this, but I have a vision before me and it is this vision that I have always been trying to achieve. The task is hampered a little bit by my choosing English as the primary tool, which is not my mother tongue, but which I enjoy even more, due to the fact that I have gained supernatural tingles of joy in Nabokov's works.