Poetry
Comments 16

Stone Seed

I lost the end of myself somewhere near the start,

among the scattered sheets of blotting paper

sprung up on iron girder stalks.

Parchment alliums staked out like skeletons,

petals more like teeth,

 

poems in the stems of them,

but no air for the words to breathe.

 

 

Between the leaves the stanza’s curled,

coppered, golden, burnt and burnished,

rhythm rolling hollow in the echos,

tongue twisted through the skirmish

as syllables clattered in and out

silver toothed, thick lipped, broken.

Turned over once, then twice, then thrice,

poetic promised poured and stolen.

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This entry was posted in: Poetry

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Carol Forrester is a twenty-four year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.

16 Comments

  1. How delightful! All the words were jumping about here😃
    My fav: “…syllables clattered in and out

    silver toothed, thick lipped, broken…”

  2. I love the recursive: “I lost the end of myself somewhere near the start,” Also… I think the very fact that this all means enough to be a battle, a skirmish, means there is breathing, I don’t hear anything that rings hollow here. But then, the task was to write for only what the intended soul-mate would understand, so what do I know? I love the cascading adjectives! (the exclamation point means I really really do love 😉 it), “coppered, golden, burnt and burnished” Is a poet an alchemist that turns copper to gold, or is the poet a fraud that merely sells us that what is burnt is burnished? Not a fraud, I think, rather a prophetess.

  3. I think a lot of folks lose themselves near the start…but hopefully find themselves again down the road!
    dwight

  4. There’s so much to love about this poem, Carol. 🙂 I especially love the imagery in:
    ‘Parchment alliums staked out like skeletons,
    petals more like teeth,
    poems in the stems of them,
    but no air for the words to breathe’;
    and the sound of:
    ‘rhythm rolling hollow in the echos,
    tongue twisted through the skirmish
    as syllables clattered in and out’
    and
    ‘poetic promised poured and stolen’.

  5. Late to reading – sigh. Too much travel and company!

    Carol, I liked so much about this write. The title is intriguing to me .. a seed signifying potential for growth, with the purpose of growth — but stone: cold, inert, hard, sometimes unmovable…and then the first line that IS the rest. Some wonderful imagery as well.

Please take the time to tell me what you think, I love receiving feedback. :)

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