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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
December 1, 2011
Filled with fun rhythm, Morning - for Carl Sandburg is a great poem by *LlyrentheShrew.
Featured by ikazon
Literature Text
The morning erupts
on little cat feet
A flick of the tail
a breath exhaled
too fast at the end of a leap
and then
A paw,
placed on lid's soft fan of lash
breath whirring, throaty, warm
nose
to
nose
eyes still closed
Then open
Thwack –
A stunning velvet attack
innocent lids unwarned
warm sheets no safe haven
The morning erupts
on little cat feet.
on little cat feet
A flick of the tail
a breath exhaled
too fast at the end of a leap
and then
A paw,
placed on lid's soft fan of lash
breath whirring, throaty, warm
nose
to
nose
eyes still closed
Then open
Thwack –
A stunning velvet attack
innocent lids unwarned
warm sheets no safe haven
The morning erupts
on little cat feet.
Literature
Coffee Stains
Dress shoes click on the streets laid slick with cinnamon and wasted air
It's sugar on your lipstick, darling; a dangerous affair.
You chose coffee
Like you chose romance
Just for the idea of romance; cream and smoked wood swirling around in your cup,
And steam curling up into the atmosphere like the locks in his hair.
Crushed, bitter,
Tantalisingly dark and hauntingly aromatic
You craved it
You mocked the raven that eyed you from its branch out in the blustering courtyard and
You didn't even like the taste.
The silver curve of the teaspoon showed your warped reflection like a deathly omen
It showed the line of your neck and each glitterin
Literature
Ginsberg in the Park
And now I’m that little lame balloonman,
all knobbled feet and goat face.
I twist balloon animals from discarded condoms to make
a Durex poodle and a Trojan horse.
I offer them freely, hoping for nothing
more than a smile to steal, but no
one smiles anymore.
I steel at autumn, the winter-come-lately,
and lounge stiff against a light-and-ice pole.
I see him there, Ginsberg, shivering man of rags, and he
leers the old man at the chessboard, the one playing with no partner,
the one tasting the king and swallowing a pawn.
Who is waiting for whom, I wonder?
They both look hungry.
I startle as the Great Figure rolls a quiet, ruby
Literature
Romancing Cotton
Someone told me that the balled-up almost was growing inside her like
a sapling, that soon the girl would be all swell and wet. What she said
was, "don't leave". Her ego was a white sheet caught on a branch, the
type of fabric my mother treated with contempt. Frippery, beautiful
but impractical: keeping it alive was like trying to catch a bubble with
dry hands.
The wind carried the sickly smell of opium and morning sickness,
signals of a spring in which fingers like white spiders cradled
the beginning of bloom. Hope seemed at once skin-near and star-far.
What I offered her was not a marriage proposal, it was a murder
o
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A kitten, an early summer morning, a favorite poet. If you have a cat, you know this moment. If you love literature and modern poetry, you know the poem I'm referencing.
© 2011 - 2024 LlyrentheShrew
Comments22
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I vaguely remember both of them... Lovely poem.
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