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.)

9 comments:

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

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

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

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

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  7. Enjoyable read - it lends itself to deep memories.

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

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