WickedEve
save an apple, eat eve
- Joined
- Oct 20, 2001
- Posts
- 11,470
I have been working on this poem for several weeks. After much research and literally 100s of revisions and few good edits from Angeline, I have the poem in decent shape--though, still a few iffy spots. I'd like any suggestions you may want to offer.
Revision:
Images, sallow
and rawboned in sepia,
merely strangers in my head
here past the hour of enduring.
Other pages,
tattered corners of life--
Hadassah trembling,
her shawl bartered
for stale bread in winter.
In bleak dawn,
knowing my own sunrises,
passages emerge
on the horizon of my hand.
With bread swaddled in arms,
did she know her tomorrow,
the descent of black hair,
its gathering up?
In darkness,
she found calm.
It was a deceitful light
against pillars of flesh,
pressed ever silent--
breathless basalt.
Imagine,
no space to fall.
For Hadassah,
I write meager bread,
hardly a bellyful
to ache your hearts.
--------------------------------
Original:
A woman trembles
into bleak dawn,
her shawl bartered
for stale bread in winter.
Another sunrise,
another,
there will be descent
and gathering up
of her black hair,
and beauty, bared,
pressed ever silent--
pillars of flesh
like breathless basalt.
Imagine,
no space to fall.
The woman,
bread swaddled in arms,
destined for darkness,
where calm is a deceitful light,
and shrill walls shadow
any carks and cares
over her ima's fraying of a shawl.
This woman,
once Hadassah
before they made her human
less.
~
Images, sallow
and rawboned in sepia,
merely strangers in my head
here past the hour of enduring,
where I write meager bread,
hardly a bellyful
to ache your hearts.
Revision:
Images, sallow
and rawboned in sepia,
merely strangers in my head
here past the hour of enduring.
Other pages,
tattered corners of life--
Hadassah trembling,
her shawl bartered
for stale bread in winter.
In bleak dawn,
knowing my own sunrises,
passages emerge
on the horizon of my hand.
With bread swaddled in arms,
did she know her tomorrow,
the descent of black hair,
its gathering up?
In darkness,
she found calm.
It was a deceitful light
against pillars of flesh,
pressed ever silent--
breathless basalt.
Imagine,
no space to fall.
For Hadassah,
I write meager bread,
hardly a bellyful
to ache your hearts.
--------------------------------
Original:
A woman trembles
into bleak dawn,
her shawl bartered
for stale bread in winter.
Another sunrise,
another,
there will be descent
and gathering up
of her black hair,
and beauty, bared,
pressed ever silent--
pillars of flesh
like breathless basalt.
Imagine,
no space to fall.
The woman,
bread swaddled in arms,
destined for darkness,
where calm is a deceitful light,
and shrill walls shadow
any carks and cares
over her ima's fraying of a shawl.
This woman,
once Hadassah
before they made her human
less.
~
Images, sallow
and rawboned in sepia,
merely strangers in my head
here past the hour of enduring,
where I write meager bread,
hardly a bellyful
to ache your hearts.
Last edited:
