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Rating: 3.3

Last night I fled until I came
To streets where leaking casements dripped
Stale lamplight from the corpse of flame;
A nervous window bled.

The moon swagged in the air.
Out of the mist a girl tossed
Spittle of song; a hoarse light
Spattered the fog with heavy hair.

Damp bells in a remote tower
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Bernard F. Asuncion 19 November 2016

Beautiful poem! ! ! ...... Thanks for sharing.......

2 0 Reply
Anil Kumar Panda 19 November 2016

This is a very good poem about significance of light. Very nice. Thanks for sharing.

4 0 Reply
R Soos 19 November 2016

Alan Tate is such an interesting read. He rides the cusp between the free verse and imagry movement ('with the careless energy of a dream') and the strict rhyme/meter of the 19th century with grace and brilliance.

2 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 19 November 2016

A nervous window bled Stunning write depicting diverse manifestations of light. Thanks for sharing it here.

2 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 19 November 2016

In a remote tower. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

2 0 Reply

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