The Lighter.

Poem By Mary X

We wish with our placid eyes.
We gaze to the starry-sky to gain
attributes to new bells of freedom.
The rain isn’t going to stop falling.

As much as you can say the sun hurt me
I know it didn’t. It was quiet reverie
that burnt my woods and tickled
my soul, until the day ended,
Until the sun shut it’s doors and faded

into another world. I sit with this
born lighter on my table;
flicking it with a seeded finger,
hoping that the answer to my enigmas
will select themselves as they will sling themselves.

We think with our country-side brains.
We search the grass for
the things that we believe are lost.
The thunder gallops into sombre mist.

I’m confused with life;
It’s sting drops to the floor
just to spring back up to engrave
my fingers. Time drips into
the bowler’s cuff to trickle

into the red-ocean and I am born-again
for the nineteenth time.
How roads are stapled together with hot asphalt,
How people’s clockwork innards tick-tock
or how I walk without thinking.
How to talk to other’s caring?

We ride on the coasters of dimension.
We wander into the void
have forbidden love.
There’re things that have become too much for me.

How can I travel to the moon
without pulling up this metal suitcase,
– closed and locked – full of things I wish to
know without feeling, to feel without knowing?
All around me are the children of media-culture
and oyster cards, they litter the streets
and destroy what their father’s created.

They don’t realise that their creations
are the walls that secure them with
fear and shroud them with no future.
Then I mystify over such trivial issues,
My lighter flickers in the dark ashes
just to have the cycle re-born again,
It seizes the light of day.

My lighter sits once again
in the stone-dead night just as it began.
The window panes have become jagged and
the thunder settles with a calm jumble of thought.

Mary X.

Comments about The Lighter.

I was told to read your stuff by a friend. She didn't let me down. Well done, Miss X.
Nice slice of wicked abstract verse, mary x...fIine craftsmanship on all basic principles of literary rule, including tight, crisp stanza costruction, and strong imagework''''''''''''''''''fjr

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The dipsy blonde with glasses
Is bending over again,

Trying to re-arrange her

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Drink up.

List This!

Everyone always admits to loving
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