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revolt for those who have fire and a home away from endless lights somewhere in the coromandel where a lonesome dinghy provides that perfect shot. that rickety red car we owned struggled up those gravel slopes: wayward grip, loose laughter at the sixty foot drop beneath. i often spread my arms to call the lighthouse back into my sternum: cape reinga, dreaming sands, feisty currents shaking hands and rubbing noses. wish for anywhere but my room filled with chocolate fudge and last night's couscous. this house is old. my mood is tropical and skulking amongst the ferns. the cat next door deserves a spanking for ripping through our weekly rubbish. and i another piece of bric-a-brac in this shining mix of migrant and historic flux, of phonecalls and forgotten runs, believing this rain will stop through huddled books and strangers' smiles, but it's warmth all the same. pohutukawa, they'll bloom this christmas, as always. gashed amongst the rocks, roots of weaving castles tempting me away from here from faces which barely say hello. i could walk this street in my underwear screaming "release me to this wilderness" and not one would rush to tackle me. revolt for those who care enough to jot each ocean down, each waterfall a silent train smiling over bridges, each a sentinel for that divide, that gap between each finger saluting the smoggy sky. i want fire. i want my skin to feel alive. i'll wash each vein and dream of flight. ________________________________________________________________ |
If you paint and you paint like you write you must be amazing. The poem is almost impressionistic. It was abstract yet very symbolic. that rickety red car we owned struggled up those gravel slopes: wayward grip, loose laughter I love the parallels in the way you describe the car and the way you describe the laughter. Your choice of adjectives in the entire piece are used like good choice of color. Props. Are there any giant hotels on the side of a mountain where you live? "slopes" That's an odd question. Still I'de like to know. This was a great piece in the sense that it captures the essence of a specific time in the characters life. This is something I think a lot of people can relate to, it seems to speak for a generation, something that Bukowski did, Millay did, and for the creative process that this piece went through I would place it in the same regard I have for the best pieces of all time. | Posted on 2008-08-31 00:00:00 | by lori_tab | [ Reply to This ] | |