deepundergroundpoetry.com
garden of storms
an old woman made a small garden. a few flowers, but it was
hard work for her. I’d stand there & gaze at it when the other
soldiers weren’t around, feeling that I was sensitive to the
grace of the garden. I was not aware that, on the days of a
future past, & perhaps on that day, I was a poet.
one night the rains washed it away. I didn’t see the old woman
after the storm; for that, I was grateful.
many years later, I tell Tereska the story. I need her to hold me,
to crush the sorrow deep inside. I attempt to hide my agony,
but she knows. she knows things I haven’t told her.
sometimes I treat her unkindly; I say harsh things to her, things
that belonged to another time, another war. the savage that
became me in foreign lands rises – he yells through my eyes &
he accuses through my voice.
I tell her that I’ve never been good for a woman, another man
would treat her properly. but she remains silent, in the way that
a woman withholds her words when she knows that a man is not
capable of understanding.
a darkness festers in my heart: I have no name for it, so I call it
lust. when the violence of it erupts, I need to take her with a
desperation that might kill me. she makes no complaint, but
removes her clothes & attends me on our bed.
my mouth & hands roam grievously over her fleshly jewels that
swell with scarlet heat, the beauty & suppleness of a submissive
woman. she opens her legs, & I assault her with an insurgent
force that would scream rape if she did not love me.
at night she sleeps naked because I require it, even in autumn’s
cold. I feel her close to me & I touch her, not in a polite way. when
my fingers find her wetness, I wonder what her dreams must be.
she’s a Galatea who grew from clay without a sculptor; she created
the artistry of herself. & I am the brooding outlaw that makes her cry.
she’s a poem in a place without poetry…
(Art: Photosensualis)
Published 5th Nov 2016
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likes 12
reading list entries 3
comments 10
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5th Nov 2016 4:29am
A woman always knows, it is in her nature to hold closely the sorrow of a man,to carry it with her,to keep it.
'many years later, I tell Tereska the story. I need her to hold me,
to crush the sorrow deep inside. I attempt to hide my agony,
but she knows. she knows things I haven’t told her. '
To be a poem in a place without poetry,
Exceptional verses, John, the sadness felt in these lines is almost unbearable, yet so utterly profound that not to read it would be such a shame.
Beautiful work...
'many years later, I tell Tereska the story. I need her to hold me,
to crush the sorrow deep inside. I attempt to hide my agony,
but she knows. she knows things I haven’t told her. '
To be a poem in a place without poetry,
Exceptional verses, John, the sadness felt in these lines is almost unbearable, yet so utterly profound that not to read it would be such a shame.
Beautiful work...
5th Nov 2016 4:36am
It's a beautiful poem with a beautiful ending.... I like how the title and introduction alludes to the emotional rawness described thereafter.....
Anonymous
- Edited 5th Nov 2016 11:19am
5th Nov 2016 11:18am
goddamn you sir, darling, babe
just, fuck my emotion in her
every orifice
how you still stir me, i'll never
completely understand
just, fuck my emotion in her
every orifice
how you still stir me, i'll never
completely understand
5th Nov 2016 11:32am
5th Nov 2016 5:25pm
"a darkness festers in my heart: I have no name for it, so I call it
lust. when the violence of it erupts, I need to take her with a
desperation that might kill me. she makes no complaint, but
removes her clothes & attends me on our bed. "
John I feel your deep passion and lustful violence in this write..
takes me to the edge of ecstasy and beyond..
love Crim
lust. when the violence of it erupts, I need to take her with a
desperation that might kill me. she makes no complaint, but
removes her clothes & attends me on our bed. "
John I feel your deep passion and lustful violence in this write..
takes me to the edge of ecstasy and beyond..
love Crim
5th Nov 2016 7:45pm
*sigh*
i've missed so many wonderful writes while away
but am tickled pink to see that you are still
an incomparable story teller...
... it's good to read this & forget my own battles
xoxox
i've missed so many wonderful writes while away
but am tickled pink to see that you are still
an incomparable story teller...
... it's good to read this & forget my own battles
xoxox
Anonymous
5th Nov 2016 9:59pm
Sir John...yup another one for the books which leaves me picking my jaw up with no words escaping my mouth...killing me...With love always - Taryn xoxo
6th Nov 2016 10:52pm
She understands and accepts those storms, hopefully riding them out in the end. The brooding outlaw has his gentle side.
8th Nov 2016 1:03am
