Friday, 12 March 2010

Magenta




Fumble furtive strumpet.
Your costume cannot hide your heart.
Like a cup-full of wine it overflows
As they tear your halves apart.

In a turquoise dress of silky cloth
Mist veils they can see through.
Maskless, the mirror shows a face
That killed off all those who knew.

Girl, your skill is nonpareil.
Your inheritance: fame and pride.
Your next one waits in a magenta motor-coach,
As in fern-curled hands you hide.



(I'm not that impressed with this one - done in a hurry and it shows. It feels too empty.)
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9 comments:

  1. Anonymous18 March 2010 at 10:23

    For being written in a hurry there is a lot of good in here. The last line doesn't quite do it for me, especially as it is a sentence fragment, but overall, good job.

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  2. Blue Bird18 March 2010 at 11:38

    Thank you. And woops, that was supposed to be a comma, not a full stop. Bad proof reading. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.

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  3. spiritsoflena18 March 2010 at 15:00

    I thought this was great. I especially loved the first stanza.

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  4. robkistner18 March 2010 at 19:37

    What a sense of impending mystery -- liked this...
    ...rob
    Image & Verse

    ReplyDelete
  5. flaubert19 March 2010 at 20:42

    I like this, and want to ask "Who is this person?"
    Pamela

    ReplyDelete
  6. gautami tripathy19 March 2010 at 22:24

    It seems good to me!

    now open, now close

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  7. Blue Bird20 March 2010 at 07:50

    Thanks for the encouragement, everyone..! I'm glad the poem was enjoyed.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Tumblewords:21 March 2010 at 12:13

    Enjoyable read - it lends itself to deep memories.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Anonymous23 March 2010 at 12:16

    I enjoyed it...makes me want to know more of her...

    ReplyDelete

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