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Poetry Magnum Opus

Stone Angel


fdelano
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Stone Angel

 

 

 

 

Tiny feet, (were they bound?) always

 

dangling over or under my collar—

 

be still, will ye?

 

 

Arms stiff, supporting finely shaped

 

hands, and nails, oh, so delicately painted,

 

cerise on slate gray.

 

 

Must ye always be amove, adjusting

 

yer seat, crossing yer untiring

 

legs back and forth?

 

 

Please don’t try to talk; the words

 

form and come so slowly—we

 

don’t have life enough.

 

 

Let our arcane symbiosis remain

 

as though coarsely carved by a prankster

 

in everlasting stone.

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"Please don’t try to talk; the words

form and come so slowly—we

don’t have life enough."

 

Wow. These are SO emotion-filled I am sad from reading them. Direct and very expressive. I hate to take this LITERALLY and possibly look stupid, but is this about a necklace or amulet?

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Thank you for your response to this one. I wrote it some time ago, can't remember when, with the thought of offending Brendan with my fake Irish brogue. The content is meant to be quite literally the "angel on my shoulder" who has become a nuisance and of little or no use in directing my behavior. It comes straight from a bit of PTSD and an attempt to make light of what I cannot control. Wow! Bet you're sorry you got me started. Paco

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Sorry, no: I am GLAD you explained. And I hope you are better.

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Stop trying to be Irish. I know it's tempting. You think you can but you can't.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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I need to drink more! That's it!

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Green hemlock would be fitting. :wub:

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David W. Parsley

What a whacky crowd! But in a more serious vein, Franklin, I read the fits-and-starts demise of many things into this. All of them precious in one way or another. A trickle of glacier water right down my core...

 

Thanks (I think),

- Dave

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