Harbour Picture

Two poems in a simpler style. An exercise for a more classic style, one that I don't often use, but can if I want to.

 

Harbour

 

 

 

I watch from the docks as the clouds sink into the setting sun

 

The watercolour furling like a photograph (beyond grasp)

 

Peering through the looking glass is clouded horizons

 

Days I have drifted across a docile lake

 

Drowning my memories

 

The spring of my youth a lost part in a massive machine

 

The factories smoking foliage through their stacks of pipes

 

Breathing in air thickly moulded as molasses

 

I have been holding my breath for years

 

Crossing the ear channel of a city street

 

Watching the time fold in on itself a paper crane

 

Unravelling my wings into scarfs of photo reels

 

The waters darken to black,

 

I anchor myself on rock bottom

 

The Hamilton harbour yells with the rush of thrush, water, cars,

 

The crisp smoggy yet clear air, at the same time

 

Straddling between on clouds’ staccato

 

I hold the wrinkled hands of once children I do not know

 

Throughout the hours

 

Drifting dreams away

 

Colder than the lake

 

Beautiful sterling silver not yet rusting into night

 

 

 

Picture  

 

 

 

I take time to pause the motion picture called life

 

To ripple in the system of static gutters

 

Clogged to the bottomless abyss

 

The hands of time have shaken in agreement outstretched

 

That the ceil hangs in the basements of heaven

 

That the vines that cling to these old walls

 

Cradle foundation in the jewels of morning dew

 

Sometimes the sun cries out a symphony of bones

 

Sometimes I bury my carnival

 

The picture frames the puzzles as broken dreams

 

As I put myself back together

 

I disassemble my own heaven

 

And build the fortifications

 

The house of tomorrow’s idle God

 

The shingles and lean-to of my broken mind

 

Shattered canvases

 

Shadows hanging framed on the walls

 

In the dimly lit ventriloquism of light

 

It tries to wrap itself around every corner of my mind

 

In this black box

 

I prefer the black sky, the dark corridor

 

Hiding you from view

 

The blind wandering through the bedroom

 

Going back to sleep, cold

 

Directionless, searching for myself

 

(We are oh so easy to shatter, so fragile)

 

(A single drop of rain)

 

(The brush of a pastel against gravel)

 

(Unravelling in the grass)

 

You took me with you

 

Now

 

You are just another frame of glass

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Two much shorter poems than usual. Descriptive and visual, I particularly enjoyed the first poem, Harbour. You not only took me there but I also felt the emotional side of this writing. Your poetic expression is truly beautiful. You know I have the attention span of a gnat and that is why I don't read you more. Epic poetry is not my thing, although I appreciate all the effort you put into yours.

Chris

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I'm glad you enjoyed them! It was a sort of exercise given to me by a senior writer who wanted to test my abilities. He wasn't so into them, but they meet my standards, and everyone sees things differently, as long as I like the poems I write, and maybe some others do, it's ok to have critics.

[Chris Shaw]

Well I enjoyed them. A well worth exercise I would say :)