The Dove

that dove gives it up, he asked
he puts out, I answered
OO what's he into, he inquired further
round and round he goes, I added.
these eyes are good, he touched upon
just a fledgling, I tattled
yes, but. . . , he looked at me
yes, but what, I glared back
and you, he said
out of season, I condescended
I want you, he spoke of the dove
time to get the hell out of here, I muttered
from his clutches.

by Mutsuo Takahashi

Other poems of TAKAHASHI (3)

Comments (8)

the heart rising in its estate of peace as a boat rises with the rising of the water; - - - that is an effective metaphor for this long discussion of marriage and other alliances and unions
An institution or an enterprise? Maybe marriage is a game, as Moore plays with us here discussing various perspectives on the topic. I love the idea of thinking about what would marriage mean to Adam and Eve. Marriage is a social contract bearing on two individuals in their most personal relationship. What could it possible mean to two individuals outside of society? Moore walks around and around her subject pulling at various threads to see what will be revealed to us. Some aspects are positive but not all are as she circles the whole and then each of the individuals. Marriage is a complex arrangement and Moore comes to no definitive conclusions. It's an open-ended discussion, shining light on an integral part of our society as humans. Like a cubist paintings she attempts to show all sides at once and by doing so allows us to see the subject, not intentionally distorted, no that's not the intent, but laid out before us in a fresh way that we can appreciate both the beauty and the repugnance of something we've become overly familiar with and blindly accepting of. What you take away is solely up to you, but Moore's perspicaciousness and meticulous technique infuse the piece with a hard, multifaceted gem-like brilliance.
The strange experience of beauty! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Below the incandescent stars below the incandescent fruit, the strange experience of beauty; its existence is too much; it tears one to pieces and each fresh wave of consciousness is poison. Beautiful poem. Thanks for the sharing. 10+++ for it.
Nice one. Thanks for sharing.
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