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, April 14, 2010

Your Last Lover

Her arms she raised above her head,
Her eyes they glowed from sheet-strewn bed.
Her lips they breathed and her voice
                                                   it begged.
And sun it flew from my room in the depth of night,
Leaving shaded hands to grope for hidden light.

The sword it
                in a shining arc,
A silver line cutting the golden dark.

My eyes they shadowed to that distant plain.
My heart it faltered in the molten rain.

Arresting me, Death drew the cover:
“Casanova, I am your last lover.”

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