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Fiery Hands (Free verse) by Sunny The woman does not move;
and her clock is dosed with amnesia.
Something scarred these hands
into coma. The peeping bird shuts-off itsâ
back-âforth routine, and the mother,
in her complacent gown
under the arch of the bathroom door,
is helpless while she becomes consumed by a force
greater than herself. It makes her babyâs mouths
oval lips silenced, before itâs attempted cry.
The toddlerâs pruned fingers
twisted the cold water off, allowed hot water
to spill; and now the boiling water
tightens on the skin
that lies prey-pink rawness
enveloping. He is a statue that burns,
he is feeling, he sees out of blue eyes,
while she is embraced with a tortured stare.
Frozen fingers
are in limbo inside rescue and this eternal pause,
cementing her feet to the stance
they were left in. Babyâs mouth
is opened without the screech; time quit in the seconds
that lived before a wail and attempt.
Up the ladder:
Letters Left Unsent
Down the ladder:
Gone Wrong
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 4.6666665
Posted: April 1, 2006 2:18 PM PST; Last modified: April 1, 2006 2:18 PM PSTWeighted score: 4.9602656 Overall Rank: 8638 Comments:
There are some top lines here (you seem to be pretty consistent at coming up with good stuff!) but some bits don't keep up the standard. And I really don't like the disjointed stanza endings - personally I'd turn them into properly punctuated stanzas (as Dovina suggested). Excellent imagery though. It's great to see poetry like yours here.
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The woman does not move;
her clock has amnesia,
and her hands are scarred.
The peeping bird has ceased its
back-âforth routine, and the mother,
in her complacent gown
under the arch of the bathroom door,
is consumed by a force
greater than herself.
It makes her babyâs
oval lips silent, before itâs attempted cry.
The toddlerâs pruned fingers
twisted the cold water off, allowed hot water
to spill; and now the boiling water
tightens on the skin
that lies prey-pink raw.
He is a statue that burns,
he sees out of blue eyes.
tortured stare nembraces her.
Frozen fingers
are in limbo in this eternal pause,
cementing her feet.
Babyâs mouth
is opened without the screech; time quit in the seconds
that lived before a wail and attempt.
Not perfect. Play with it.