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    dots Submission Name: After The Firebirddots

    Author: catman
    Elite Ratio:    3.81 - 2/3/5
    Words: 434
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 421
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2567

       --Don Boyles
    (alias "Catman.")
    have written poetry for almost 30 years.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsAfter The Firebirddots

    After The Firebird

    Came a fearless thunderstorm with a shattering hail:
    Bouncing and cracking on the streets,
    Hitting our rusting car, our green canvas awning,
    And our galvanized iron roof.
    (Different metals touching always seem to be
    In some heated, openly contested state of flux.)

    We sample a large slice of your last years birthday cake,
    With the candles still strangely burning.
    Thick white butter frosting
    And impossible red sugar flowers,
    In a blaze, melt into the yellow writing.

    Should I once again set aside,
    Should I still change my life for you?
    Is it not enough that the electric, blue-white light
    Has ripped us apart from the half frozen ground?
    That this brown dirt and slush are tightly packed
    Into the black rubber grooves of our shoes,
    Like time compressed, to darkly stain
    Our white athletic socks, always, without fail?

    (Now I kiss only both of my cats,
    And just live with the bits of orange and white fur in my mouth.)

    I will sing tonight of another, of a much younger woman.
    I will stand with a black coffee and fresh apple pie
    In the near darkness, perhaps in the red clay ravine,
    Now clogged with blasted, fallen pines.

    In an adjoining stream, the smooth gray river rocks,
    Each with a thin, embedded white band,
    Are finding our collection bags,
    To become an ankh figure in the center
    Of our new stone wall.

    As we spin ever faster inside our long maple spindles,
    Can we wear down even the glazed, blue,
    Porcelain sockets that we have so lately come to appreciate?

    Still together, yet meals apart: I eat all the wrong foods and take all the wrong pills,
    Even as you stir a cast iron crucible,
    Cooking vegetables and beef over a bed of fanned, glowing charcoal.
    Other women advance and retreat,
    As if I am a prisoner of myself,
    Or of who I am supposed to be.
    Are we an incomplete solution
    To an unfinished math problem?
    Mirrored crescents of a broken circle,
    Printed on the finest, scorched graph paper,
    I cannot see us drawn as two plotted, adjoining points,
    As two surefire winners.

    Don W. Boyles
    03 June, 2010

    Submitted on 2011-11-03 18:36:40     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      okay i agree with cornonthekob...

    broken up...i feel the first four stanzas are a poem in itself...nicely tied up by the last line.

    and i feel the last stanza is a perfect poem by itself...

    i don't see it all meshing together so well..although i really like your phrasing...i might ditch the punctuation too...but only because i seldom use it and would rather the readers read as they will...and get what they get...

    but you are a wordsmith...and i am glad i found this piece.

    | Posted on 2011-11-04 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]
      ouch. sounds like a very broken relationship. more in the longing theme if you ask me. i felt like some of the metaphors were over extended and this would have done better broken into different sections. maybe even lose the punctuation.
    | Posted on 2011-11-03 00:00:00 | by cornonthekob | [ Reply to This ]

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