Six-fifteen on a Rainy Evening
You turned -
In your nakedness
So beautiful
Trumpets flared
And the forest young mewled.
Earth cracked open
Casting up buried civilizations;
All Art
Converged
On your curving
Thigh.
Cynthia Buell Thomas
<Deleted User> (5151)
Tue 13th Oct 2009 21:53
oh i like this. i'm a big fan of the word 'converge' it and 'merge' are two of my favourites. i love that sound.
Absolutely beautiful Cynthia. You make such a statement with just a few lines.
Fri 9th Oct 2009 12:39
This is a fine poem Cynthia ,Dare I suggest " is re-born" instead of "converged". Steve Smith
<Deleted User> (5646)
Fri 9th Oct 2009 11:56
I've read this loads of times and love it!
Janet.x
Beautiful sensual imagery here.
Cate xx
He was a bit of all right then, Cynth!
Lovely poem, and proof that sometimes it pays to go purple.
A superb poem always leaves you wanting more. ( I believe I heard this off someone once before - can't quite recall who it was that said that to me x). Cannot top the other comments, but what a beautiful way to reach fullfillment of any kind.
This is a special thing. Take care of it. Win x
...the ending often does.
I thought that the first half of this piece was really special but I'm afraid it left me hanging there. I wanted more from the ending, either that or the ending came too quickly.
that must have been one hell of a fart
saw a lot in a few words - good stuff!
Love it Cynthia. Mewled, beautiful word.
John
Wow!
Love this. Beautifully captures one of those moments when you find yourself stunned by something about someone you love.
Cx
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Ann Foxglove
Tue 24th Nov 2009 13:15
You're really good you are!