Saturday, April 5, 2014

Solace - NaPoWriMo 5/30

Five days in, fifth poem down. How has your first week of NaPo been? Mine has been more than a little difficult. Several poems were just like pulling teeth to finish. What do you do when you get to the indomitable writer's block o' doom (aside from destroy keyboard/notepad/nearest stranger's face)?

Today's poem, though, while taking a lot of time to write, came smoothly compared to the rest of the week. No prompt. But inspired heavily by the music of Bella Morte and Small Precious Lights (two Andy Deane-led projects that you should most definitely put inside your ear-holes). Enjoy.


This bed has never been colder.
Even when the sun at last stabs its gaze
through our Venetian slits,
all I glean is another match
struck under one more of your photos,
every fiery dawn, a tide
by which I slowly lose you,
piece by piece
deprived of all left unsaid betwixt
your graven script.

Love of loves,
there is no slab ornate enough
to bespeak the florid honeycomb of your aura,
the autumnal spheres of your gaze
or the way your laugh
slipped slivers of Heaven
into days more wont of Dante.
Were I granted a cabin made of nothing
but the fantasies lost on waking,
it would lichen over with neglect
for the greater home of your arms.
You were my home,
and these feet, like two dislocated dogs,
know only to find their way back.
But where are you among leaf and gleaming marble?
What comfort in fungus and willow?
What shelter in mausoleum and mound?
Your epigraph, soft with mossy verdigris,
as if I needed reminding that with each day
you are more the earth's than mine.

But these leaves...
this holocaust of fallen indumenta
so like your eyes,
their susurrus,
a reminiscent sigh
stirred from tenanted depths.
And this wind...
warmer across my cheek
than its bough-sifted jasmine should be.


  1. Your poems are very powerful. They stir in emotions. Loved it!

    1. Thank you for the kind and encouraging words, Pooja. I appreciate your feedback!