senses,
I remember the reap and feasts
of old,
I remember you.
There is a line of crimson-curled posey
working deep inside
and it’s biting at my ribs
to be let out–
(this is Awen–when muse strikes and you are helpless before it.)
I’m trying,
oh I’m trying to live.
I’m trying to be real.
that’s what,
Shut Up.
It’s not like anything else I know.
~Melanie Blackwell
Filed under Poetry
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“There is a line of crimson-curled posey working deep inside…”
I had the same problem the other night after that Findus lasagne.
Reblogged this on Wordifull and commented:
One from the archives…
Your words are always so powerful. “biting at my ribs⦔ Imagesβ¦ trying to get out. Wonderful.
Thank you so much. π
The images you create are so REAL and thought-provoking.
What a great compliment. I love it when i can provoke thought π
It’s true, I just love your poetry.
Thank you π
I understand “biting at my ribs” This has such depth it takes more than one read to take it in…beautiful piece
Thank you so much Susie, I appreciate you reading and commenting.
“biting at my ribs” – love it!
Thank you!