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Whispers to Isabelle (Free verse) by Caducus Her face in the Loch,
stretched
laughing
beautiful,
whsispering my birth name
(Joseph).
Her face in my wing mirror,
shrinking
sobbing
contorted,
screaming my real name
(Bastard).
Her body on the ottoman,
naked
fragrant
moist,
screaming Godâs name.
Her body in the soil,
dressed
rotting
bone,
staring at your name
(Isabelle).
My hands on the ottoman,
silent
solitary
folded,
whispering Godâs name
whispering her name.
Itâs all about prayers
and whispers now.
Up the ladder:
The Pole and the Shadow
Down the ladder:
Some Thoughts Spilled - A Dreamers Cranial Chatter
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.3333335
Posted: June 1, 2006 2:49 AM PDT; Last modified: June 1, 2006 2:49 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.1589375 Overall Rank: 5144 Comments:
[10]
Dovina @ 24.84.215.72
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1-Jun-06/7:40 AM
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Reply
This looking back and seeing him in every reflection and distorted mirror image has got to stop. You're no help with that. Good poem.
please pardon me, but isn't the ottoman an exceptional place for lovemaking? mm!
seriously, this is one of those owrks that really hits home with its simplicity, or rather its spartan nature. by using a few choice workds, you convey the sorrow wonderfully. it is interesting that you remember her both happy at you and unhappy with you - and then in ecstasy with you (make up sex?) - in that order. my only suggestion for this is to use a different verb for the last line in S3; you already used "screaming" for the angry image, so maybe a different one for the ecstatic one... otherwise, top notch... and my condolences. 232 view(s)
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