love walks in like a drunkard

love walks in like a drunkard

A Poem by Phibby Venable

 

 

The shrinkage of morning is through no fault of the sun.
It is just my day drunk again on the long love of the past.
There is no house in town that knows to keep the door open.
only the simple company of myself high on caffeine -
a servant of moods that comes to half the price of living.


There are the trees loosing the best of their colors
and Autumn in a nudity in the blue mountain wind.

love walks in like a drunkard - swinging a mean memory up under its arms
as everything spreads in a shelter of armpits I swiftly compose people
and events into thinly veiled replicas of the originals, and brighter
with the love veil softening the alabaster of my head.
Everyone is kind in the golden shine of reconstruction.

 

This morning I hang back frozen in the arms of anxiety -
my lips too tired to close, unable to scream for common sense.
In this dawn I feel for bright spots to settle dimensions
of old rage in the other occupants of this house.
Now it is all still as love changes to the friendly phase -
an urchin in need of affection - a dull inclination to laugh
at the serious breakdown of the narrow morning.

The shrinkage of morning is through no fault of the sun.


I carry a careful check list that was
handed me as I picked the small perfect roses
Sharing drinks with Love I am able to raise
my glass to the entanglement of memories.
I pass out in a back room of classical music -
All the wise people pray for madness.

 

 

© 2010 Phibby Venable


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how do you always do it?

I am as ever amazed.

Posted 10 Years Ago


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LJW
All the wise people pray for madness.

Oh, that line!!!!!

It would be easier to be crazy than to feel, easier to forget memories than to have them revisit any time they want.

Totally Phibby, totally relatable.

Posted 10 Years Ago


you must have paid dearly for that ladder you climb up on

Posted 10 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

The Venablese spills over into every line, and the metaphor is inventive and tight. This may be the finest thing you've ever written, which means it walks with giants.

Posted 10 Years Ago


When some abuses the one they love it not only hurts the body but the heart as well till love is beaten to death... some very interesting visuals in this poem but quite a powerful statement.

Posted 10 Years Ago


0 of 1 people found this review constructive.

...I like caffiene too. it is a real boost sometimes. Is this a poem about special moods you were having? the morning must be special for you. The "frozen arms of anxiety" is common among us folks who write. Well carry on. yrs raining

Posted 10 Years Ago


0 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on December 23, 2010
Last Updated on December 24, 2010
Tags: poetry

Author

Phibby Venable
Phibby Venable

abingdon, VA



About
http://youtu.be/25XE-BHGvWI http://youtu.be/B2klgDKMUq0 I live in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. Although my passion is poetry, I recently published a novel called, Women of the Round Tabl.. more..

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