A Clever And Cruel Man – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

You and your dim accuracy,
head lolled loose
eyes whitened and widened
till the pupils blink out.
Words come clipped,
ransomed love letters
read like shopping lists,
or obituaries.
Call this a grey life,
the air sucked clear
your mouth a pursed funnel,
but I
am the culprit.
Found the bruises of your hands,
like marble sponge,
cold as stone
the heat slipping over you
without warming.
In the well shade you sit
while I sink deeper, darker
for the waterline.
Come up spitting dust
and excuses.
Shoulder a shallow cloak
of indifference,
already the hem unpicked
by those grasping hands
always tapping
rapping
at the weakest point.
Feel them at my temples
tonight, tomorrow, today,
at the weakest point
always tapping away.

Ah, I’m really hoping I got this right. The five Samuel Greenberg charms that I used for my response are as follows: dim accuracy / grey life / marble sponge / the well shade / shallow cloak. I tried to emulate Greenberg’s abstract style (though not quite as drastically as he employs the abstract).

Late Cropping Raspberries – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

Last of the soft fruits,
these blooms are redder, fatter,
skins splitting sticky on a palm.
Drew my tongue along a lifeline,
caught what was left beaded
between the creases of flesh.
Half a gasp at the tingling,
spring still weaving magic
as the trees catch fire.
Time trick of seasons blurring,
like unexpected heat
under the winter sun.

Waiting In The Wings #DVersePoetics

I braided a basket of my fingers,

in case I was required to catch

you

if you fell from any sort of height

or perhaps needed a boost

to reach a shelf

or a step

on a ladder I could hold

once I’d unwoven these hands

to grip the rungs better

if you eventually decide

to climb.

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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

 

 

The Simple Things – #DVersePoetics

When the trainer asks

‘did you forget to breath’

it sounds stupid,

and unfortunately true.

A little like thinking

too much about the doing

so the thoughts twist knots

into your limbs.

The panic welling

in much the same way

as your lungs swelling up

against your rib-cage.

You were sure you were,

then you’re not sure,

suddenly so unsure

you can’t even breath

without counting

each gasp.

In…

out…

in…

in…

out..

out..

In…

In…

In…

Out…

Out…

Out..

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