I must confess ... I've been tinkering with the chain poem too ...
it crept into a couple of things I had been messing about with.
Stone Roses
In my hand I hold a desert rose,
chalk edges on petals of stone.
I am the moon,
dusted into your eyes.
The sound of your name,
soft as sands
flowing to the call
of the wind in the desert,
eats away the stone
bloomed in my palm.
In the hot breath of rose
we fade -
4 comments:
Mmm, nice. Reminds me somewhat of the shorter poems of H.D. [Hilda Doolittle]. The clear delicate images and subtle music of the lines.
I went to your blog and saw the photo of the stone rose too -- fascinating.
Hi Lyle, thank you. What a nice compliment.
I thought the stone rose was intriguing.
yep- I saw the photo two ( a couple of days ago actually). I Like the poem also. There's a lot left unsaid in brevity, and I enjoy that tremendously, because it gives me a chance to fill in between the lines.
Thanks. This is just a nostalgic little plaint of longing and missing
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