By Francis Scudellari
Conversations
Long-ago ebbed
To unknowing,
Stagnant, preserved
In murky depths,
New roiled rise up;
With sudden sense
Flashed memory --
A touch, a smell --
Her voice floods back
Mixed-up flows fresh
In white-noise washed;
Many merged strands,
Tangled phrases
Slowly sifted;
Minded pools drained,
Rippling inward,
Spiraling down;
Sad trickled words --
Intermittent
Drops -- in silence
Negated; I
Desperately
Reply, recall
Full-throated shout
Thrust into time-
Thickened sludge, where
Weighted, waking
Pulled, it trails off …
Unheard echoes
11 comments:
Great Prose Dude!!
;)) Peace*
You still call me, caro!
Drops -- in silence...
Francis, funziona GoogleTalk,
grazie;P
Thanks Billy
Good news Hanna. Now you can have complete strangers chat with you :).
An X perhaps? Well done Francis. Another exemplary poem. I'm still waiting to see your work at the MW Society page. :-)
~JD
Thanks JD,
It's a combination of past and present, real and imagined, dreamed and experienced "stuff" all neatly tucked away in my brain.
I was in a bit of a down mood the beginning of the week so am just now getting back in stride. I need to reassess what I'm doing a bit ... here and off-line. At minimum I'll stop by and post my MWS poem.
Hi Francis!
lo sai perchè c'è la chat, news e cose varie per i blogs?
Perchè un visitatore passa più tempo nel tuo blog e così sale PR di Google...hahahah
Ciao caro!
Ciao Hanna,
Yes, I think Google is making out pretty well from all the "free" stuff :).
hm, also I am freed...
;)
manca l'illustrazione!
a proposito...
;PPP
I promise to work on it today.
Post a Comment