deep waters

Copy Right © 2012 Hannah Gosselin ~ Pier Post Persisting

I crawl under the logs
trembled stones brush the earth
willow trees sway in the wind
casting shadows on me
slush and mud rub into me
the stain on my clothes I can bear
the image imprinted in my corona
I cannot see
who called the bluffs
my mind asks
when I hold a log
my nail snags
you could have it all
all of me,
all of my possessions
but you escaped in that vessel
into deep waters
which will take you far away

"from my strategic point 
I watch the vessel sink into deep waters,
loving the smell of mud on my skin"

hang me on your door knob

Still Life, 1670, detail by Jean François de Le Motte

that stub
assorted letters
a notebook
pages from a book
a sealed envelope
newspaper cuttings
I see all those
that expression of yours
when writing
or that intense look when reading
strings of the past lay askew
tied neatly in a disreputable thread
photo frame riveted to the wooden wall
why does it stab at my heart
you hung her head
where did you throw her costume
eyeless she doesn't appear wanting
I can see clearly now
the wicked intricacies of your mind

"I do not wish to be a newspaper cut out,
ribboned to your collection"

conflict

crouching closely to the ground
what do you chisel away?
my nerves are on edge
my heartbeat so fast

the ground splits 
you crumple that paper in your palm
drop it into that slit
why did you bruise the earth?

you could have burnt it.
in the glow of the fire
I would have watched your face
that piercing look in your eyes

when your mind crashes to ground
we both burst into the sky
no one wins nor is it a draw
seems like it is what you are good at

it is your life's mission
to demolish everything
be it for a living
or to wreck my working week

"a buried paper can be taken out
I know you will read my love letter again"

borrow my eyes, borrow my ears

this face and figure
that you bestowed upon us
we like our stature
fruits, berries, leaves
enhance it
we stand proud in our fruit fortress
fragrances reach out to that child
our berry eyes beckon her
tentatively she touches our moustache
tickling the "royal we"
a little push here
a little shove there
we fall apart in front of her

when little children touch with their grubby hands
(it happened not only in our dreams)
picking fruits, berries, leaves, 
we give up our fickle thoughts
loving the feel of their love in their mouths

"eat as much as you can children,
we are not worried about our disappearance"

spiral

 Expressionism: View of Toledo by El Greco (1541-1614)

candles flicker
I hear a jingling sound,
and cower under the shadows of that tower
why, you ask?
I shake my head at the clouds
dark, ominous, intimidating
the tower seems harmless
I slowly climb to top
the city unfolds
(error in my judgement about the tower)
I now know my mistake.
with half a smile
I watch two bears fighting in the clouds
the trees sway in the drama
their laughter reaching the sky
tower stands tall vindicated,
and enfolds me in its embracing warmth

"when do I realize that
I have been totally fenced?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 This painting is from 1596-1600. Yet seems very modern, as if from the present period. El Greco must have been a visionary.....


Thanks Poetry Jam, for making me explore various forms pf arts...

dedicated to the dregs in a tea cup

I scraped the container
tasting honey with my finger
sweetness ruled over the sour taste
that sour taste left from the remnants of past
sweet and sour make strange bedfellows
and I almost perished 
I was in love with life, 
mind you, not with you
the road may seem long and winding
but I like to watch the dregs in my tea cup
those cannot tell me my future
but make a nice pattern
someday I will knit a sweater
which will go with my golden heels

"I love my red sunglasses and green shoes
you can have my golden heels in your chest"

discontent

House At Dusk, 1935, Edward Hopper

it is all a blur
the words, 
did you scrape with a flinty tool
I wrote on the walls with a chalk
somewhat rough
in the burnished interior
austere measures do nothing
my discontent is drenched with your brittle talk
I will hide in the barnacles
it will nicely cocoon me
shadows will hover in the periphery
I will pick some
take those to the forest
I will merge into the trees

in that house, without shadows
you will live alone
"didn't you choose that for yourself,
why are you discontent now? like me."