Sunday, January 17, 2016

These Days of Paradise

Tonight - Take off my soaked heavy black raincoat,
and a strong breeze kicks up out of Amsterdam,
blows through tiger lily-warm valleys in Tennessee,
picks up a rusting Mid-West tang and binds it all tight.

Her scent...
mostly, her scent
permeates my shirt and my hair
and socks and pants and senses,
already my head swirls with it
and residual chemicals
but mostly
Her scent.

Tomorrow; another long Monday in an
improbable stand of imperfect clone mondays,
all blurred and crooked and frayed.

Tomorrow; a rainy fable told by Today...

With stormclouds and tiger lilies and old sage,
as Her scent, mostly, her scent
too soon fades away.



eric1313 said...

Really working with compression. Compressing ideas is easy once you start writing poetry, but harnessing compression, and tailoring it all per case and per poem is very different. Doing so consistently, and knowing when to ease off on the compression just a bit, it's all part of the balance, too.

And by the way, that's my folks back patio. I planted and tended the gardens, as ever I will on any plot of earth I am privileged enough to inhabit in the future.

Charles Gramlich said...

The wind comes from a long way off. It carries life to you, carries it away again.

Cloudia said...

So delighted to discover your blog. Thank you for stopping by. I'm your follower now

Anonymous said...

As always, beautiful, Eric! Wind is an awesome thing... and, with it, comes an assortment of serves to scatter seed, thus carry new life to and fro... to reshape images (in our mind)... to make the heat more bearable (metaphorically speaking, of course)... and yes, to touch the senses with the aroma of whatever was in it's path, before it reached us, each... Sarah ...

eric1313 said...

Charles - The winds are like that, but sometimes they sustain.

Cloudia - Thanks for the follow! My poetry needs good fans.

Sarah - Or a gentle breeze of taking of a coat, releasing the smell on one's clothes.