A phone call now may wake her
straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after
once upon a sleeping crime nothing rhymed
….and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl
stringing whispers to sky balustrade
A phone call now may wake her
strip negligee to bone
dribble honey thru pillow hives
flood hornets’ nest between legs
…and I’ll sail this sleep alone
sea-shell coved against my ear
like a seance with the deaf
All windows remain open on Lighthouse Street,
Rain-ghosts weep inside an attic jukebox
a phone call now may wake her
…and like the blackbird on the wire
I will not take prey on you
comfort is the singing
shingle beyond the shore,
waiting for the tide to arrive
Many times writes are over my head, like this one. LOL. I’m pretty good at deciphering poems, etc. Yet some are more complex and perhaps “inside” than I can travel to. But, pixie sticks poems have kept many a reader caught up in the meanings, looking for that connection with the author. It is a bond formed of our mental values. Of what we grasp for, as writer and reader. You make a hell of a spider.
Thanks Mark. Sometimes metaphor and images over-power the meaning and think this is such a case. It’s really testament to how an unexpected phone call can change life’s narrative.
A spider? Ha. I could certainly do with 8 legs at moment. Broke the same ankle thrice and in the cold weather walk like a penguin with flatulence.
Oh motherfuck YES, this is goddamn poetry. I needed to get my head out of my own ass and breathe some air, and you, my sweet Welsh friend, are cold wind on a warm day.
The way you fuck a line, gods, with lube and soft kisses and hair pulls.
You weave a poem and use an unexpected trope-twist to make real magic. I’m reminded of why I word-crush on your shit.
THE FUCKING LANGUAGE…
straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after
AND THIS?! Fuck you. I’m literally jealous I didn’t write it…
….and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl
stringing whispers to sky balustrade
THIS?! AAAAARRRHHH!
strip negligee to bone
I’m almost over-stimulated and about to cuss you out for being brilliant but this?!
sea-shell coved against my ear
like a seance with the deaf
…. that was amazing
I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.
Kickass shit.
BB
Well Betty Boo, such praise from a writer like yourself, keeps my keyboard warm in middle of night.
Not everyone gets me (so to speak) but I’m cool with that. It’s enough that the poets and people I hugely respect, give a considered nod to my scribbles.
I’m yearning to visit Snowdonia (Eryri in Welsh). It has proved to be the most cathartic landscape.
Keep the faith
Rob x
Dear R,
The energy of night passion jumps off the page in this piece. Two lovers trying desperately to make it happen without consequence of hurting others. The romance of the ocean in the back ground is hot and (al)luring. I really enjoyed the beauty, intensity and sexy shivers in this poem. H 🌷
Oo. Diolch H. You get it. The night tells all – there are reasons why my pillows are frayed.
Even as a fiftysomething, I take great pleasure in scratching names in the sand. Last week I took a night walk to sing to the harbour lights – ignoring the bitter cold and manic screech of the junkies. The sea was so calm.
Rob x
Hauntingly, up my alley…fantastic!
Too kind. Thank you
Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian