Treasure Island

Lamont Palmer

(July 12th,1962 / Maryland)

Little Black Dress

Hanging in commonplace closets of plaster,
tempting colors from the emotions, the silk
slips like hidden thoughts from the body,

allowing a history of its own to flourish:
names, faces, symbols, intentions, which
are unknown. Questions are in the stitches;

and in the beckoning, as it is seen and absorbed.
A world opened. A forest steeped in radical
assumptions. Goodness held darkness.

There is the sight of black; there is its urging.
In the sense of it, a new sense approaches -
approaches from the heart of the apparel.

What can I do? Place my hands on the surface?
Or place your hands on my eager hands,
to be adorned, densely, in night-soaked cloth.

Submitted: Saturday, April 23, 2011
Edited: Wednesday, May 07, 2014

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Topic(s): art

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  • Mandolyn ... (7/2/2014 4:45:00 PM)

    after going to your profile, this is the first one that caught my eye and well, crap. this is FREAKING wonderful. great poem. (Report) Reply

  • Sherrie Kolb Cassel (10/28/2013 6:08:00 PM)

    This one simply does not speak to me at all. You love that word: banal - maybe a little too much (IMHO) . The music is there, because you love that element in your work and in the work of others. The beat is pressured, sort of like forcing an orgasm only to be left consoling yourself after the let down. Well, in a manner of speaking. (Report) Reply

  • Pranab K Chakraborty (5/2/2011 12:03:00 AM)

    Beautiful poem could be categorised as a piece of romantic-realism poetry. No isms are sufficient to appreciate a good writing, but our mind always try to match one thing with others. Nice and again I contradict myself as saying the surrealist beauty engulfing the reader your hands on my eager hands, / to be adorned, densely, in elusive cloth. Thanks for sharing such imagery of black silk dress hanging on the wall.
    10++(with my choice, don't bother the server) (Report) Reply

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