SCRIBBLE RIVER
1
The trees bend low,
The hills, open, roar.
The world spins fast
On its way to war.
2
Drenched in
Their own silence.
The hills.
Made cool and
Winged to the sky.
3
Tongue numbed:
The eloquence
Of tumbled waters.
4
Wind harp in melancholy minor
Sweeps, weeps and fades
Across the roofs,
Through the forest.
5
A flint
Struck from verse.
Bright words
Fly splutter
In endless rain.
A breathing on the roof,
Laughter soft in the gutters.
To measure out a little time
Upon this place.
6
By here we wander
Sullied by reason
And the oldest of stories.
Chained and unchained,
Livers pecked-
Our own hungry ambition.
7
We, unbecoming all,
Scatter aimless,
True to undiscovered dream
And the whispers of the greedy dead.
8
Here they speak
One long river of words.
A thrush by the waterside
Cracks a snail on green grey rock.
—
simonhlilly 
Review
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged city poetry, comment, comparison, contemporary poetry, criticism, doubt, fashion, individuality, judgment, myth of, Poetry, slick, style, tone of voice on November 28, 2015| Leave a Comment »
REVIEW
Ice moon
Punches light
Through brittle
Smoked sky.
Nothing is revealed
By word or movement.
Body’s aching
All the time
(As the song says)
As the song.
City words.
Skinny,
Low-fat language.
No need for pause
Or repeat.
Socio-
Political,
A smatter of
Classical reference,
Footnotes,
Hand gesture,
Erudite,
Excusing
All manners of
Genocide.
Overplayed is
The well-suited
Dictionary.
The poet
Understudied.
The poet
Misunderstood.
Trope, trapped
And clichéd.
Time to sink
To anonymity,
Forgetting,
Forsaking this clamour
For another, yet another
Point of view,
Validation.
Worms wriggling
Upwards to
Drown in puddles.
Picked off by
Black birds
With golden
Beaks.
A
Metaphor
Too far
Perhaps.
—
Share this:
Read Full Post »