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

Monday, February 15, 2010

Your Fire

There comes a time
When I confess
That I'm holding the sun in my head.

There is some deep and raw knowledge
In the understanding of your own emotion
Felt for another outside yourself.

Some deep dark tide,
Stretching across the ocean's soul
Into the reaches of your own.

So I can say with surety,
Beyond the moon's pull
or kraken calling seabirds,
that what's here is true.

There comes a time
When I realise
That I'm trying to contain the sun in my head
And every hour there is only your fire.

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