Peeling Girl~

On the first day

My plumes could rival a tropical bird’s

Shiny under your stroking attention

And I cooed like a dove

Ignoring the onyx prisms in your blue eyes

 

Second day brought a gold bar

A floor made of headlines

And I don’t know where the sound came from

Until I stepped in the clutter of broken china

Coffee stains on my slip

 

Third day was a wash

Soaked under angry tears

I cowered in the cage of your arms

Permitting the plucking of my mind

Feather by feather

 

Fourth day saw my water dish empty

You forgot my little grip

On your fingertips

Asking for a lift out of the feed

You left me there

Drenched in pixels and neon light

 

Fifth day was the sunshine

Burning the feathers along my spine

Compressing my oval iris

Until blindness left me

And I was struck dumb with vision

 

Sixth day rattled my cage

With your thunderous heart

Bleeding love all over my struggling chirps

As you ran me over

With miasma

And the slam of a metaphorical knife between my shoulder blades

 

Seventh day peeled me of my wedding gown

The echo of a bullet depressed

Locked and loaded

Little feet picking up ink

Skirting bone

I left you beside the water dish

Filled with my feathers

Forgetting that without them

I could not fly,

And, peeled

It was a long way back to ground

 

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

~for Kerry O'Conner's Sunday Challenge Contest~

Reviews

[Lachenille Papillion]

I can say with sincerity, not because I know you, that even though I am unfamiliar with this Sunday Challenge...
Contest over.

Your mind and soul speaks in realms that no one else can even hope to travel, save for the delicate invitations addressed within your poetic offering. Timeless, in more ways than science currently allows, is your literary gift....

What a treasure for those invited!

... makes me wish I had more time to spend here~

[Lydia Blackwell]

I have often visualized myself as that caged bird during my marriage. Now that it is over, I have found new wings that are even more beautiful and strong than the last ones! But the bald period was HELL. I love how you broke it down into days, referencing a time period, whether real or metaphorical. I can feel your disappointment more keenly as though it was only a matter of days before the adoration was gone. I can SO relate! Some men are oblivious to their treasures.
Excellent write, dear :)

[SpokenWord]

Is this the path of love that some must travel on to only lose who they are and their ability to sustain life on their own... I feel we all have felt this cage at some point in our life, I remember mine very well. We strip our self in hopes that it will bring us the perfect love and in the end we are just stripped with the knowledge it was never about love but control. This Metaphor is stunning Selene! I hope to never be caged or cage anyone like this, love is so much more. Love this one!

[Bare Bohemian]

I feel stripped bare. Oh, wait. I am. I have to say I've missed feeding my mind with the crunchy goodness of your words.

[Pax Analog]

This inside-out courageous revelation of romantic entrails evokes a sober respect for the gift of woman's love to man. Although an encaged scenario, w/onion layers of psyche revealed, I am struck more by the courage of this bird o' love than the fleeting tragedy of more pearls of the heart cast before swine.

It's as if this caged feather grrrl is the yin contrast to the yang of your sword-wielding ninja-ness. And neither is merely victim nor victor. Both are attentiveness and bravery w/different situational emphases.

This piece touches and grows in my heart. In your inimitable, wide-ranging, and truth-impassioned way, you remind me of Krishnamurti's comment: "People either worship or kill the one who has something -- and they are exactly the same." In his context, "worship" means idolatry rather than devotion to felt value.

Your heart is pure and will find its purrrfect mirror.

[Reese38]

I've been reading your poetry faithfully. I have to admit a growing addiction to your style, which I haven't encountered before. I've also been reading the reviews. The reviews here are a perfect example that backs up my observation that YOU can't be reviewed, because you write past language. You write for the human soul and not for critique. To analyze your writing would be insulting, because someone of your character and your style can't be defined. You just are, and you're perfection.


Seventh day peeled me of my wedding gown
The echo of a bullet depressed
Locked and loaded
Little feet picking up ink
Skirting bone
I left you beside the water dish
Filled with my feathers
Forgetting that without them
I could not fly,
And, peeled
It was a long way back to ground




Perfection.

[OT]

oh wow! how can any of us attempt to rival this?? stunning write as always oh great one haha you poetry is alive - so creative, fun - rhymes here and there - the pleasure you get out of writing is so evident!! "With miasma
And the slam of a metaphorical knife between my shoulder blades" - nice!!

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

- Poor girl , can no longer fly .. love the play by play of each week day .Left you beside the water dish filled with my feathers - i love this line!

Chloe

[Brad]

ah, you hit a man in the face with an ice cold bucket of ice cold whiskey...simply pleasurable to read and sticks in the memory

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Oh Selene, Selene, Selene. You are not formed from dust, not made of skin and bone. You can't be. The spray of light that comes through the infinitesimal holes in your skin are too divine. This birdies slow roast of soul leaves me wilted. This is how you bare all through ink. Thank you... for remaining... and evolving... and sparing none.

[.......]

Sixth day rattled my cage
With your thunderous heart
Bleeding love all over my struggling chirps

I really liked these lines, they just stuck out to me.
Quite the engery driven write. Enjoyed.