|This Is Not A Murder
Far away peaks point like fingers,
Sloping hill silhouettes three heads
who listen intent as they stare
into a bare room.
The assassin steadies,
leaning on a chair.
A corpse, cold as marble,
immobile and bare
among the ruins
of a broken love affair.
Gramophone plays scarce remembered tunes,
someone else's song.
His home is a suitcase,
'She owed me'
Remains a problem?
Stains on floorboards?
Train appears on cue
17 and a half minutes to 2,
5 hours late.
Seated in carriage,
first class, lights pipe, meditates
on the demise of his marriage,
mais ceci n'est pas un pipe,
et ce n'est pas un meurtre.
A woman looks towards emerging stars,
gripping the cold sill,
her colour drains into the night
as the sun sets
behind a distant hill.
1 Oct 05
Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
Inactive (0): 10
(define the words in this poem)
(789 more poems by this author)
Add A Comment:
11. why not break before scarce?
poems on painters or paintings are my favourite.
thank you larry.
Thanks for your kind comments. Maybe there should be a break after scarse or maybe not. I dunno, not sure.
good, captures the painting very well
I see you are also a fan of Magritte.