Composition Poem by Richard Bunch

Composition

Rating: 4.3
 


You get masked by the lines sometimes
like bluish dye, in the shape of
a wolf’s rib, shot through frost
or that other tigress, fire, though
you leave a licking trace
in the foaming measures of afterglow.

And yet at the center of this
where soliloquies intersect
and thread on, the igniting
moment, the unmasked abode, where
we’re finally dead and being born.
This is what weds us
long after returning to the basics
of color, to fashioning newer
flutes for the longest descent,
and to the philosophic season
with its hammered truths, trans-
parent deaths, and beauty’s
shoulders of corduroy.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Indira Renganathan 12 September 2009

Very much intricate to me....though I feel a music in the flow of words....lovely

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Ashraful Musaddeq 01 October 2008

A nice poem. Love it. 10+

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Greenwolfe 1962 22 June 2008

If I said I knew what this writing was about, I'd be lieing. I never pretend to understand something I don't. My integrity means too much. So, I'll just say this. It is presented well in terms of form. It also is written quite well. This is all I can evaluate without further knowledge. GW62

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