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

Sunday, November 29, 2009


A name like a balm,
Spread for an aching wound.
My wounds.
It's the knowing and unknowing of things we've said,
And it hurts in that unforgetting because I am human
And bleed.
Arguments of wordless meaning scratching at petty frustration,
And stories woven with suppressed desires,
I think sometimes I'd better not have met you,
I would not be earthbound
And I'd still think of love as a singular great thing
And not know the real heartache;
Naive child.
Yet you bring healing to,
You the elder fallen,
And I will not forget that
Clinging to name and memory
In hope that I will say it again,
And for the saying of it will be a better being.

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