Mary X

Rookie (19.01.1987 / London, England)

Truth. - Poem by Mary X

Fishing for wood
on the edge of my

is one of the fine pleasures
of my

I fiddle and fidget
with toiled

lit and spiralling
between my fingers.
There is

still a pong
of poignant

corroding my
it won’t

let me lie
in a tranquil

catching the rays
of the green sun
in my desert dreams.

You have to wonder
(my reader)
whether there

is any point
to a woman’s man,
ladies’ man,
man’s man
gay’s man
no-one’s man
living in this

dust of clog,
arteries and

organs all
working to complicate
one another.

The night is
holding it’s torch
soaring in the sky

looking down on
a whole country
sleeping whilst a

dripping man
failing man
clown man
dead man
is still awake.

You could say
that I stumbled
upon the only certainty.

Mary X.

Comments about Truth. by Mary X


    This is an evocative poem, Mary.....keep writing...and don't be afraid to edit to perfection....You're off to a great start. (Report)Reply

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  • Joseph Daly (9/6/2006 3:31:00 AM)

    This is indeed a fine piece the flow is so well constructed and the language is wonderful. (Report)Reply

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  • Kelly Allen Vinal (9/6/2006 1:29:00 AM)

    Impressive and provocative piece, Mary! (Report)Reply

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  • William Jackson (9/5/2006 9:20:00 PM)

    Fascinating poem. A great read and thought provoking! Is there an impotent, too quick to climax, archetype of the average man here, or am I reading too much into the dripping, failing, clown, dead, awake man? (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, September 5, 2006

Poem Edited: Thursday, September 2, 2010

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