Black vines lean left
in remote villages:
ring the August minutes
in flower pots;
crowded, the night nods.
A mosquito bite itches:
a yawn, shrunk white,
reflects fat and humid
a sky of borrowed colors
we don’t reflect
20 Sep 05
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WOW I don't get touched like that and find it annoying that I get teary eyed when reading this...thnk you.
thank you, turtle man,
your words are kindness revealed.
i love your poem
thank you for loving the poem
It was great living it
Beautiful, but sad.
This has a real Bulgarian feel. I think you should get some sort of award from the Bulgarian Tourist Board.
You should get rid of the and in the first and seventh line.
Larrylark, thank you for your input. You write such beautiful poetry that your comments always touch me. Ha, I doubt the Bulgarian tourist board is going to appreciate the mataphors. As a true Bulgarian, maybe I ought to include some reference to our glorious present day westernization and definitely find a way to rhyme the whole thing for them. Thank you anyway ... some friends appreciate it and interestingly enough, it was inspired by an American. :-) Life is ironic.
unknown, thank you for the suggestions, I think you are right and I did away with the "the" and the "and" in the first and seventh line, it reads much tigher now ... and better.
Might you reveal your name for us, stranger?
sensitive writing, nice poem. clarity is, seemingly, a regional requirement.
Wow this piece really was quite amazing i cant really think of much else to say except well done!
Thank you Ben, you are kind
Roz, charity should be at least a reasonable requirement, I think, though its practice is region specific at times and unfortunately so.
Thank you both for your generous words ...
this has a marvelous ethereal quality
hint of sorrow
a cup of tea, is mine
i love this poem.
thank you to onklcrispy and to kaleidazcope.
Awesome description, awesome approach to the disconnection in humanity ... if that was what you were trying to convey.
"Hear," that too, the disconnection, I suppose that is one reason I could connect to everything that was happening mostly outside around me. Thank you for commenting.
beautiful maria writes beautiful poems.
flutter and a wink to unknown
Takes my breath away. Fave.
Spun through a coocoon of gravy, this sailed straight to the bull, horns blew and and the matador applauded.
Real Nice Poem
thank you, poppy and unknown
No unncecessary words! Good work. All were used to their full potential. I "sky of borrowed colors we don't reflect anymore." Great!!
creative and nice.
this is some good stuff, line six is brilliant.
thank you to listen, aerol and MrChris - I am glad you enjoyed this piece
It is one of my favorites
i would place a single period at the end of line 6.
yeah, you are right about the single period
I think I will place it as well, right now
MrChris, listen and aerol, thank you so much for your kind comments and for bringing me back to this poem. Line 6 is a favorite for me as well, as is the last bit, they have an interesting parallelism going on between them that, I hope, does not make this more melancholy than it was meant to be.
Thanks all three (I wish we could have a place for favorite comments, not just other people's poems) :-)
Having read this many times I have begun to argue with myself over 'lean' in L1. I would like to suggest a change, yet see a paired image in a single word, which would be lost with any other choice. Perhaps also the placement of ‘and’ on the same line effects my eye, maybe if it led l2 or was omitted altogether?
There is a sullen coloring to the poem but it is not in the least lugubrious, the phrasing of L6 sees to that, a pivotal line in the poem. Thanks for the read – I will revisit again when the skies are morose and broody.
hobby, you are so very kind to revisit this
I thought maybe if I changed the verb "lean" to "thrust" (in past tense though I might have gotten the grammar wrong), that would also imply the vines being acted upon by the thunder. I am not sure if that works, because yes, they lean (v) left before they are lean (adj), think and fragile ...
I am starting to wonder why I ever chose "black" as the first word and the one to describe the vines. You have brought me to re-consider this poem, thank you for that. I have also taken the "and" away from the end of line 1, it makes it less narrative and more strike-ing ...
I hope I have not ruined this poem
Short and sweet, but deep. I enjoyed reading this piece.
thank you FemmeInLA
I am glad you enjoyed this poem
I really like this, especially after reading it a few times. What is the yawn, is it something Bulgarian or is it a yawn that someone does when tires, if it is I'm not sure i understand. Poem paints a powerful picture and is nicely written.
i absolutely love this. there isn't a single thing i would change.
thank you, icepineapple, caustic and Meep, for your comments
I changed the word "thrust" to its original, "lean" which, some time back, seemed to bother some readers but I do think it might just fit better.
As far as the yawn is concerned, it is nothing specifically Bulgarian, just a reference to falling asleep, to darkness (without saying it directly), to the changing of seasons, to the kind of apathy that takes over the body and the mind and the kind of apathy to go along with borrowed colors.
Thank you all for the read
would you consider one small change to this otherwise brilliant poem?
'ring' to the previous line... ?
beautiful imagery - delicious memory
No no, don't do that (varun, no offense) the enjambment would be lost. L3 has a natural completion to it, the placement of 'ring' unsettles the eye and would be far less effective on the previous line.
Also I like that you have returned to 'lean' - nice to read this again
thank you, guys, a lot
Varun, I am going with hobby's instinct ...
Obviously, you kick ass ;-)
I love how "bite itches" looks like 'bitches'-
that kinda stuff gets me all excited.
First read of the morning
and I'm pretty sure it'll be the best.
good call on 'ring'. i read it about 10 times. makes sense what hobby said. of course.
Krttika and Lyom,
thank you so much for your kind words
I do not kick ass, not at all I am afriad ... there are times when the relationship between power and its addressee seems to me to go the other way around. Ouch! :-)
Thank you both and everybody for your comments
You should strive to contain your last effort in so few lines. This is a fine poem, but over a year old. I would have expected to see improvement not decline in successive posts.
and who would this unknown be?
if I may kindly ask
ok, so I happened upon this poem this morning, and I very much enjoyed the read. when I finished, I decided "I definitely need to add this to my favorites list", so I went to add it, and it turns out it was already one of my favorites. anyhow, I'm glad I came upon it again. very much enjoy this one. very well done. thanks.
If you were so inclined:
A mosquito bite itches
a yawn, shrunk white,
reflects fat and humid,
the languid smile of yesterday
‘s moon, the stars cheerleaders
Of a sky of borrowed
we don’t reflect 11
ah, you are so king, theair, thank you ...
And I think you have prompted me to go and re-read some of your own poetry this fine Monday morning
why "the lnaguid smile of yesterday's moon, the stars of cheerleaders" ... this changes the meaning of the poem a bit, the introduction of cheerleaders when I am talking about a remote village, perhaps such a turn of gaze of the reader would feel somewhat forced, which is what I tried to avoid with this poem the whole time. The poem is about a thunderstorm in a village and about the reaction of the world to the thunder, plants, vines and humans alike.
I would love to know why you propose the changes, if you get a chance to get back to this
Thanks for your comment
A glass of red too many I fear, :
A mosquito bite itches
a yawn, shrunk white,
reflects fat and humid,
the languid smile of yesterday,
the stars cheer, leaders of a sky
of borrowed colors
we don’t reflect
Thoughts: places a enjambed line in the second strophe (albeit a little different in style to the one in the first). Likens the sky which lies beyond the storm, or through a momentary clearance in the clouds, to hope, that which is worth celebrating once the storm passes. The ‘borrowed colors’ brought to mind an association with cheerleaders.
Other than that I don’t know – my wine induced blurb would seem to have been a touch hasty :)
It's not wise for some people to drink, they in fact belive the pish they talk
After so long away from this poem, I feared it may have become too accomodating, too work-shopped. I needn't have feared; it is still a natural beauty.
Like thunder ring? Non capisco. Is there a missing comma or a missing 's'. Help me.
The last stanza confuses me some, too, specifically the 'a' before 'sky' in line 10.
Rixes, thanks for your visit!
rung the August minutes
the line break is in place of a comma, since I have switched around the sentence a bit. Grammatically correct (though it is not incorrect right now) should read: The August minutes ring like thunder. I can switch around the latter part to come before the main clause if I put a comma after it but since I wanted to be sparse on commas, I just put a line break. I hope this helps by way of an explanation.
The last stanza, let me see: the indefinite pronoun in front of "sky" is to indicate that is not just any sky but the sky i am looking at while writing/reading the poem. The sky thus is almost named, even though it would work perhaps just as well without the indefinite pronoun. Yeah, maybe take the "a" away, Maria.
I am not sure what else to explain regarding the last stanza: the mosquito bite itches (it is hot in addition to being itchy to begin with). A yawn is shrunk white because, in the mind of this author, it is colorless (like the sky), devoid of life and air. The sky is fat and humid because it is August, rainy, hot and sticky month (I wrote this in a year when there were a lot of floods at home).
oh, maybe I have done too much unnecessary explaining
Hope all is well with you
and unknown, thanks for the comments ... even while drunk :-)
This is a wonderful poem, in my honest opinion.
I like this. Perfect first stanza. "a yawn, shrunk white" caught me. That is where I as a reader get lost in the second stanza. I would separate out We don't reflect anymore on another line to end the poem.
i love line 1, the nodding night, line 10.... the ending, oh so much. How you put this poem together is inspiring.
the title's "moth" is what carries the "pot"'s hump, not the "nods", which put, sounds as though you hadn't seen the poem in your consciousness. leaving out the "moths" title, leaves "minutes" exposed as simply jargon, and it loses it's music to "august" and becomes banal. the ending, after the white shrunken yawn of cover, talks of a reflection we haven't available, which hasn't been melded into any reflective surface. 11 and 12 are another poem, trite, and ruin this otherwise sort of nice poem for me.
i dont think anyone knows wha this poem is about
i am consistently amazed at the inconsistent interpretations of poems here not because of their complexity but because of their obscurity
a moment captured in flowers and on your face both within and without - very insightful portmanteau like gatherings in words and images, maria - each sentence is articulate though layered - we are the Sun and the Moon and the Sky and the thunder and the mosquito bite - the winds of change blow words across our minds
please explain this layer by layer
"i don't think anyone knows what this poem is about" -- it's about the author writing out what has to be written out -- inventing a poem out of the complexity of word and emotion -- inventing a meaning. i read a poem as though i were with the author and talking about the poem -- as though i were writing the poem myself -- as though i'd never seen a poem like this before -- as though i'd seen hundreds like this poem and watched it conforming and diverging from the template. you want me just to wag my tail at it and bark? that'd be doggy crit on a doggy poem.
Bravo! This is so beautiful, Maria. Haven't seen your poetry for a while. Michigan is thawing now, I trust. The words here say a lot. The message behind the words leaves one (myself) feeling a lot. Congrats on your #1 Top Rated poem. :-)
'Black vines lean left'; 'lean left'- the triviality of this immediatly imbues whatever is to come with a pointlessness and takes away any force
'Black vines lean left/... /like thunder'; no connection at all between the two, furthers the feeling of triviality
2nd stanza: 'yawn... fat and humid', again, a poor connection
l11-12 would be much more stricking and sudden if reduced to one line
however, i do really like 'black vines', 'the night nods', and especially 'a yawn, shrunken white'- i think that is really fantastic
this is very good. no complaints
i agree with unknown
irrelevance dressed up is still irrelevance
lean left with me?
I am delighted to see comments of both kinds here. I have to admit that the poem was purposefully obscurish which is not always a commendable poetic quality indeed. If this helps at all, the poem was written as an opening - by way of stylistic devices (lots of verbs, short words, seemingly unclear images). What the poem was written about was a summer thunder in a Bulgarian village - thus the vines, the flowers in pots, the endless night urged on only by the ringing of thunder (rattling flower pots and windows alike). The second stanza turns to the writer ... a fat yawn, shrunk white implies heaviness, a bit of emptiness as well (shrunk white ... almost nonexistent, no?). I will leave the ending open.
Thank you for all your comments. I have been away from the site for a while but I hope to return soon.
Starr, the snow has thawed indeed in Michigan and we are waist-deep in spring. The trees are blooming, the flowers are bold and in the morning, tens of birds visit the birdfeeders. The world is growing fat, healthier, having forgotten all about winter already.
True art! So few words say so much!
I'm not too fond of the tempo. It's immediately jerky and hard to catch up with; putting a pirouette in a line dance is never a good idea.
Watch how the leg straightens a bit here:
"Black vines lean left
in villages remote: (but choose a better modifier)
like thunder in
the August minutes
and crowded flower pots;
the night nods, Leka nosht (Good night in Bulgarian)
The music is sexy, smokey, electric. Now learn how to move to it.
interesting choice. its somewhat a perturbance. kix ass
great poem, strong and minimal
lines 7-10 are masterful i truly injoy reading them over and over ^-^
why is there a stanza break after line ten? i think it could be done away with.
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