Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Wild Grass

The river flows onward
and the wild grass grows
as bright and greener than
an emerald star.

She leans in,


You smell her sweat
a scent that makes
you more and more
every time
you pick it up.

You carry her inside
as the sun sets for two,
down the dark hallway
padding barefoot down
the hardwood floor.

Somebody once wrote
a poem about this;
of that you are sure.

But none of them
are you this night.

Because this is really
her poem.

She tells you so
with her lips,
her scent--
her poetry
...and all the rest that is
this long humid night,
as the candles flicker
slowly burning down low
shedding light and shadow.

the wild grass grows.


Shakespeare said...

Cool. It's both universal and individual.

One of the most seductive poems I've read lately.

Charles Gramlich said...

Drunk on her sweat. I like that image. Very passionate.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Hard to get into your comment space today. Visual id? I'd probably crash your computer.

Anyway, here goes, for what it's worth.

A lady poet will show a man poet how to be creative, how to use his left hand...No, no pun. :)

eric1313 said...


Thanks! Yes this one was specific in some ways but fantastic in many others. I like it when people can see something of or for themselves in what I write, it means I did well.


Sometimes it's like that. Always glad when a line works well like that.


Must be more blogger server issues.

Nice how that works huh? :)

eric1313 said...

Referring to poets, of course.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...


Ultra Toast Mosha God said...