Saturday, August 20, 2011


a hundred dishes fell with a crash
littering the kitchen floor with shards
as delicate as crushed conch shells

(shattered and
harsh white
against the red tiles)

I picked up the base of a cup
turned it over in my hand
it caught on my fingertip, cut deep

(bead of
red bloomed,
a bright eye)

set it in the kitchen sink
and watched it bob up and down
on the frothy tide, suds swelling round it

(white cliffs,
white chalk cliffs
round white sides)

one puff of breath set it spinning
another sent it banging against the side
and a third sent it to the bottom

(bubbles flew
upward, freed
by its demise)

I watched the shipwreck
slipping my hand through the little sea
blood weeping a crimson trail from my finger

(a red tide
algae bloom,
the red sunset sky)


  1. Oh wow, this is so good! <3

    Follow back?=)

  2. I really loved the structure of this poem, it added so much. Gorgeous!

  3. I loved the way this poem was told in an almost dream like state, allowing the imagination to run riot at the expense of the bleeding finger!

  4. Wow, what wonderful writing. This is beautiful.

  5. I loved the structure here! It changed the voice of it when reading it. Amazing. Thumbs up! ^___^

  6. I loved the imagery. And the description...


  7. I love the construction of this. action/ reaction. The dance between our external landscape and our inner one.

  8. This was so different. *Wow* awesome read:D