| Moderated by: Paddy, Edd |
|
|
| Posted: Fri Feb 9th, 2007 03:10 pm |
|
1st Post |
timmy
Member
|
it’s your life now, hold it close—
like an infinite number your life extends
like moon rays, like strands of music
listened to and remembered—
you were given life & visitors
came: sisters, neighbors, teachers,
men in books—
they all watched
you grow, gave you advice
concerning geometry, red
licorice & white panty love
your hand now rests
on his shoulder, young thoughts
of coffee & theme paper dance
in your head, your red dress
somewhere between black & white—
it doesn’t matter what you wear
the only moment that matters
is now: you are heir
to your womanhood, spill
yourself onto the floor, move
your feet to his rhythm,
celebrate for the rest of your life
|
|
|
| Posted: Tue Feb 13th, 2007 11:54 am |
|
2nd Post |
J Brian Long
Member
|
timmy,
The second strophe resonates most with me. This is where the poem
really begins to happen:
"you were given life & visitors
came: sisters, neighbors, teachers,
men in books—
they all watched
you grow, gave you advice
concerning geometry, red
licorice & white panty love"
I also like:
"...spill
yourself onto the floor,"
--J Brian Long
|
|
|
UltraBB 1.17 Copyright © 2007-2011 Data 1 Systems Page processed in 0.1482 seconds (21% database + 79% PHP). 26 queries executed.
|
