A Poem by Leslie Philibert

for Carl Sharpe

Autumn is a frozen church
We wait at heavy doors
That smell of rust,
Not a moon cold enough
To be called heartless
Or breathclouds of old steam
More an estuary of
Dumped mist afraid to ice;
The taste of wax on your lips;
A frame of hair round a
Hatted face, our steps as slow
As if we must tread water,
You are ice and rain and
The first crystals and even
More than this, beside me.

© 2014 Leslie Philibert

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I can read into your words you write as either the season or a person. Maybe both. Unique imagery in this poem, all your own. A strong poem and a gift to your readers.

Posted 6 Years Ago

Hmm, very interesting. I think I've known some people who were like ice and rain. A very chilling experience, to say the least.
The words flow easily across the page and speak to you. I only hope I heard them correctly.
I like your work.

Posted 6 Years Ago

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52 Reviews
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on September 28, 2014
Last Updated on September 28, 2014


Leslie Philibert
Leslie Philibert

Bavaria, Germany

I`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..

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A Poem by Leslie Philibert

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