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 writer trying to be a better one. She’s currently working on a poetry collection 'It's All In The Blood'. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University, enjoys judo at least twice a week, and tries to attend poetry events around the Midlands when she can. 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. Her poems ‘Sunsets’ and ‘Clear Out‘ were featured on Eyes Plus Words, and two of her poems were included in the DVerse Poets Pub Publication ‘Chiaroscuro’ which is available for purchase on amazon. More recently her poem ‘Until The Light Gets In‘ was accepted and published at The Drabble and her poem ‘Newborn’ was published by Ink Sweat & Tears. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and has hosted a number of guest bloggers on her site Writing and Works.

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.

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