…
The day’s got yolk
on her face again, all orange
yellow sun-splotched and watched
by gossipy doves, first loves
who wish they’d slipped away
while the sky was still a scrim.
There’s a slim chance
she’ll voice herself in full
……..(voice herself a fool)
today, syllable her way to
more than maybe
but less than silence.
She slants. She rants
in crimson dress, her early
light rays laser sharp and
pleading. She’s reading
the moon
(the stars, the indigo sky)
the riot act, the how and why
and where
–withal of wandering.
She’s done
squandering her gifts
and bearing busheled light,
fighting back the dark.
She’s on fire,
one unspoken
broken spark.
..
Prompted by Poetic Bloomings. We’re writing aubades. Come play!
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Oh De, teach me to write. Share some of that hoodoo that you do do very well. The fifth stanza just made me cheer. You had me though at The day’s got yolk on her face again
…..outstanding this image of the sun.
Ah, swoon!
Oh, brilliant. And brilliant once again!!! Your rhyme, your meter and mostly your wondrous metaphors . . . I do believe your readers have as much delight reading as you do writing. ❤
Agreed. Another fabulous one…
Pure genius at every turn.
“gossipy doves, first loves
who wish they’d slipped away
while the sky was still a scrim” … Love. Always stick it out. You never know where things’ll end up.
“There’s a slim chance” … Sheesh, I hope so! 😉
“syllable her way to” … I don’t know why, but for the first time, “syllable” makes me think of Cybill Shepherd, and Moon-Lighting … also Chances Are. I LOVE that movie.
“more than maybe
but less than silence” … Awesome.
“She slant(rhyme)s. She rants
in crim(e)son dress-her-early” … Because she’s always late, so you have to nag her to hurry up and get ready for the party. She’s one of those hippie types who really just prefers to hang out in her undies as much as possible. 😛
Yes, and yes, to these:
“the riot act, the how and why”
“and where
–withal of wandering”
“She’s done” … Never.
I crazy-love this poem.