A Disappearance

A grimacing clay water bottle exhilarates me.
Dour black freezing in the skin of my forgotten lover,
I am deaf to her lame silence.

Stuck in her mouth are vowels and consonants,
They stay there, like punches pulled.
It is end of days in her world: unscrupulous

Ideas stay dirty and hide away.
I do not give a f**k about these assertions.
I am naked, I stand upright.

This is not love, this pale Formica
Flattened to the counter that sits so astonishingly.
It rests large cups and bowls.

It shall uncover singularity.
Her spirit closes and opens -
A German car. Reich-like in the sinews.

This stone, what disorder -
No planets are dying like joyous letters, might.
One, two, three. Her dumb retinas stay shut.
 
 

Reviews

[Deviant Works]

How does someone even review your work? It's so...vivid, intense and so magnificently written that any review given would automatically fall flat. I feel unworthy, mildly inadequate. My favorite lines... 'I am deaf to her lame silence.'... 'Stuck in her mouth are vowels and consonants, They stay there, like punches pulled.' Simply amazing, Rosalind. You deserve everyone's awe.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much Kylie, I truly appreciate your words -
-x-

[Deviant Works]

You are most welcome!

[...]

Bang! Back like the brilliant genius she always was and will be :) This is a Fing smorgasbord of descriptive emotional aliveness that has no chance of ever being "pale Formica"

[emmajoy]

'This is not love, this pale Formica ~ Flattened to the counter that sits so astonishingly. ~ It rests large cups and bowls.' That is more than more, that's shadow hidden by stuff that doesnt care a jot.. tis nothing anywhere kind, warm; seems anger and pain. Appears to me that your words are wound tighter than tight, spitting forth with amazing force. Your style, your laying down of words is ultra emotional. Your words are alive!

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Emma -
-x-

[Mark]

I haven't gotten a read request from you in quite awhile. I miss your magical universe. So often there is pain and anger there but still it is magic and keeps me curious as to how your mind works.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much Mark -
-x-

Oh as I told you, your darkness to me is also everything, this write honestly felt, like you took a healing cure with "Vertargil" to me, the green clay, wich can be good for body and skin, but also inside the body, to take it as a liquor..... cleansening, the senses, being totally off for a bit into a relax world. I know this isn't the real clay you speak about though, "Reich-like in the sinews." brilliant love.... you knock on my front door with writings like these.... I am going to save it. Talk soon he he xxxx

- Elisa

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

Deaf to Lame Silence, now there's a thought! well done, good read.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much -
-x-

[Corset]

Line one, for some unknown reason, exhilarates me, It's ringing gongs from a Tibetan hillside in my mind but I can't remember where I've heard it before. I gave up the ghost in stanza two, there are three kinds of lovers when they fight, the kind that won't leave it alone and nag and scream and b***h and moan, and then there are the silent sufferers, and then there is the kind that will pick up a clay pot and smack you over the head with it...considering one and two? I think he got off easy all consonants considered.
Flatware, was made to be broken into tiny shards especially if it gets a good shout " oh no!! Not Mother's good China!" You are writing again, and it's as if you never went away :)

[kublakhan27]

An incredibly visceral piece of imagery and intensity. Hard not to get caught up in the emotion in this piece...it's one of those poems that demands emotional attachment. If I had to pick a favourite triplet, it would be the second one, but each one packs its own punch. Excellent work.

[Leslie Philibert]

This is very impressive, tough triplets full of powerful imagery, a really excellent write

[h d e rushin]

that last stanza was Sextonian, which I know you are a fan. When I read your poetry, the geometry applied to the computation of lengths by volumn astounds, like Sexton did. Her images, just as yours,
overtook me, mentalistic little boy, running around the room.

if I didn't mention it before,
I love poetry.

dana