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

Friday, March 5, 2010


He is coffee's aftermath,
The drowning colours of caffeine and smoke.
Butterflies storming
Washing off the desire of a bulletproof vest.
Run fingers through dark hair
Catching fragile in silk cement applied that morning.
He is the beauty of the Tarot deck.
Kiss the night of woven fingers
Beyond the violetly soft JD and coke.

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