One of Six Meanings of Love

[brianedwards]

One of Six Meanings of Love


Love once made of me
a moon, locked

in orbit with a shoulder
turning. Looked through

like a window, not a telescope,
I added minutes to her days.

And when it died
we carried on

anyway, each gouging
and gorging

until a kind of sick
game commenced,

a contest to see
who could fatten up,

who could metamorphosise
on a moonlit leaf

and wake the next day
a butterfly.








~

[brianedwards]

Reworking/ combination of an old one, some new ideas and experiences. Just noting in case any of you recognise any lines.

B.

[Ros]

Excellent until the soluble fish, which is a curious image which seems at odds with the caterpillar idea later in the poem.

Ros

[brianedwards]

Yeah. Gone.

B.

[Suzanne]

The simplicity within your writing stops me with awe and then frustration.
Dang, you just show up and i am challenged. I love it.

If i had to come up with comment, i'd say the word season could be included near the end somewhere... But that is just for the purpose of making crit chatter.

I will write a couplet thing.
Maybe if i drink tea and ride over crowded public transport.....

Beautiful and sad poem.

Suzanne

[ray miller]

Very good. One of your best, I think.

Looked through

like a window, not a telescope,
I added minutes to her days - I don't get this last line, though, unless it's just a means of saying N became tiresome.

[brianedwards]

Very good. One of your best, I think

Ouch.

Cheers Ray.

B.

[ray miller]

Very good. One of your best, I think

Ouch.

Cheers Ray.

B.

You're not so keen on it?

[brianedwards]

Not so much. But thanks Ray. I appreciate it.

B.