Night


Sedimentary sighs of still water
roll the soft hills of plenty,
but I, in my own fashion, delete
the coming with waves.

It was just like that
when suddenly soft fur,
black, long and soft,
poked at my ankle.

Night is a harsh mistress
when all is misplaced
and I is only I.




Poetry by Bob
Read 546 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2008-08-24 at 02:48

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Nyorioko
"Night is a harsh mistress
when all is misplaced
and I is only I."

My favorite part.
As poets we draw inspiration from places that others simply can't see.
This is great.
2008-11-30


Peter J. Kautsky
wonderful poem about the search for identity and contentment with it.
2008-11-19


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2008-11-18