deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sunday Night
In hot,
clean water, almost
floating, I desire to drift
on mounting clouds, rivers, dunes
and rolling summer storms.
Fragments of poems drift by,
autumnal leaves, or seagulls and crows flying in the leafless air.
I watch them as they drift, silently
mouthing their syllables, and then
like curls of breath on a frosty playground, they’re gone —
Time ticks, and the body protests
with wrinkled fingers and trickles of sweat.
clean water, almost
floating, I desire to drift
on mounting clouds, rivers, dunes
and rolling summer storms.
Fragments of poems drift by,
autumnal leaves, or seagulls and crows flying in the leafless air.
I watch them as they drift, silently
mouthing their syllables, and then
like curls of breath on a frosty playground, they’re gone —
Time ticks, and the body protests
with wrinkled fingers and trickles of sweat.
Published 15th May 2024
| Edited 16th May 2024
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The author encourages honest critique.
15th May 2024 1:42pm
This was so very beautifully written.
I love the ending.
Hope to read more by you. 😊 - debbie
I love the ending.
Hope to read more by you. 😊 - debbie
Thank you for reading and taking the time to write a comment :)
The poem originally had one more stanza at the end, but I decided to drop that last stanza, and leave the ending open, so to speak.
The poem originally had one more stanza at the end, but I decided to drop that last stanza, and leave the ending open, so to speak.
I love the tension of the enjambment in S1 - S2, and the uncertainty it produces over whether the water was indeed hot and clean. . .or was almost hot and clean. That very tension prompts the reader to continue to find out.
Nothing beats a good, ritual bath and it's nice to read a male's experience of it. I don't think I ever have. The way you let your mind drift through the seasons was fabulous.
Not sure what that final stanza was, but the ending is excellent as is.
Nothing beats a good, ritual bath and it's nice to read a male's experience of it. I don't think I ever have. The way you let your mind drift through the seasons was fabulous.
Not sure what that final stanza was, but the ending is excellent as is.
16th May 2024 11:23am
This was written soon after a good bath, where fragments of unwritten poems did indeed drift by.
I’m a growing fan of enjambment, and its poetic power.
The final stanza shall remain lost, as one of the ephemeral wisps of breath on a frosty playground.
Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting :)
I’m a growing fan of enjambment, and its poetic power.
The final stanza shall remain lost, as one of the ephemeral wisps of breath on a frosty playground.
Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting :)
