Sunday, October 11, 2009

Fallen


Second to Last Day of Summer
--Gina Marie

Dying grass tilting
sky against my lips
pool of concavity
hips twisting. Angled bones
curled, cracking blackened
fiery starlight. Clay-tangled
strands snaking, curled hide
sopping bracts and branches
flashing particles of long light.
Rubber on rock and truck door thud
hopelessly spread all painted wing.
Yellowed seed heads prick.
Cloud strings rain-streaked
dust tracks down fused spines.
Trembling, molten, quaking
me, flailing into fall


_________________



Many thanks to you, BAK, for helping me to listen for the rhythm and have the patience I needed to get this poem from draft to completion. You are a strengthening force that goes way beyond poetry, and I am so appreciative.






7 comments:

Gina Marie said...

It is, of course, your exciting and beautiful imagery that tells the story. And....what a glorious story it is, and shall be!

BadAssKona said...

The above was posted by BAK, of course...who doesn't know how to operate a computer....

Craig Sorensen said...

Wow, outstanding. As always, so vivid and alive.

Sigh.

Verification word: tumme

Rhymes with yummie.

Erobintica said...

methinks I need to write some poetry tonight - this was nice - we had our first freeze last night - moving into winter

Gina Marie said...

Hey BAK -- my bad for hijacking your computer! Thanks again for being there ;-) If I keep at it, will poetry feel more natural than golf?

Hi Craig -- thank you! I keep plunking away. The second to last day of summer truly was brilliant.

Robin thank you -- all of you poets out there, including BAK, Craig, yourself, Shanna -- are very inspiring to me. We haven't had any freezing weather yet, and the squirrels' tails don't look especially furry, but I came across one squirrel today that was so fat and slow I could have caught him with my bare hands and had him in a stew pot in seconds. It made me scared for what's ahead. Brrrrr! Time to cuddle!

Craig Sorensen said...

Gina said: If I keep at it, will poetry feel more natural than golf

For my own experience, poetry is a lot more natural than golf.

Someone asked my brother (a very good golfer) what his handicap was.

His answer? Craig

Verification word: decusion

This has been a nice decusion, eh?

Gina Marie said...

Well Craig, when you put it that way!

I'm really happy that I took the time to really work on this one and pare it down to the essentials.