Welcome to Shards of Silver

Marianne Moore once defined 'poetry' as "Imaginary gardens with real toads in them". I found this such a striking definition of something that captures the values of poetry that I couldn't leave it alone.

I've been writing - attempting - poetry since I knew how to hold a pen(cil). Some poems I write I like, most I don't, but every now and then I feel compelled to write them down, like a flush of emotion that demands access to some sort of visible medium that can later be accessed and reconsidered. I thought, maybe, that sharing these poems could help me out a little. I welcome critiques, critical and constructive (though I do, of course reserve the right to ignore the sharper sides of people's tongues ;) ), and hope that in return for your help I can leave you with something better than sorry attempts at a craft which only a tiny few have ever really mastered.

Clear Skies~V

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

For the Children are dead

Let me open with something morbid and hopefully encouraging thought...

Eaves overhead like tangled webs
against a dark frozen sky,
mantled by the rough edges of furry pines and snow.

Stretched beneath the shuttered world
relieved of ordeals and weight,
the Children lie in sweet embrace,
asleep in silence and dream.

Like crimson blood her little dress
pooled around her little form,
and in the bright of the shafted moon
catch glimmer does his hair.

Alone they sleep through night's cold mourning,
with sugar biscuit houses filled with gingerbread,
And on the morrow the hunter will find them;
too late,
for the Children are dead.

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