She is a fizz of honey at my side;
A sweet glue of kin, with laughter pluming like autumn.
She is a dance of spaghetti;
A mouth of tendrils, tripping ecstatic, a pulley system of frolics.
She is a wit of epilepsy;
A bewildered sculptor vexing all the clay around her, valid.
She is an armour I wear,
A friend to bask in, when all around me, sharks.
Rachel Bond
Thu 19th Nov 2009 20:28
Ooo Effervescent,sharp, lovely scenes of description . This 'fizzes' with childhood s fitful fancies...its great.
I have posted more mournful stuff a dirgeful symphonic to Gods own garden...
What can I say - Brilliant. Favourite bit, last 2 lines (Mine's a pint) Win x
Bethany is growing up now but is the most insanely giddy person i know!!
the wit of epilepsy is supposed to be referring to an explosion of energy. I take my poetic liscence and order a round of drinks with it...! thanks for the comments. x
I guess children do have fits of laughter Steve... or maybe we aren't supposed to look too closely for literal meaning.
steve mellor
Fri 13th Nov 2009 16:36
Hi Marianne
Apologies for being obtuse, but 'wit' and 'epilepsy' seem odd bedfellows, from what I recall?
I'm guessing that Bethany is a child, Marianne. A fizz of honey would be a lovely way of describing my Beth - though she can be a bit more like lemon cheese on a bad day. I like this one - the imagery is refreshingly different but I can still follow it.
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Donna Marie Beck
Sun 22nd Nov 2009 10:35
love 'dance of spaghetti', this poem is different to your other ones!