Iceberg Poem by Tara Crown
Iceberg
Sometimes I look at my life
And see Im outside looking in
Hovering above that bubble
In observation of my own sins.
Like a balloon on a string
Longing to float away so free
Or perhaps a blooming flower
Rejecting the stem to unfetter me.
If I had arms of any strength
I'd slice away those binding roots
With the knife of my own power
A clean cut, a clean wound.
But now I stand here knowing
That such threads will never break and
I flick my cigarette too hard, losing the tip
Of my iceberg
That's just the tip
Of my iceberg.
And what a clever running-on image to crown all that imagery. Nice reading you again, Tara. Warmly, Gina.
What power contained.Really captivating and good use of metaphor in this one.Love Duncan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/8/2026 1:02:35 AM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
The anger and energy in this are the iceberg. Thanks for showing us the tip. The meter perhaps stumbled a little, but what iceberg is a perfect icecube? Wonderful. -chuck