At the sharp bend in the road

Poem by: Neil James

Reads: 438 | Likes: 0 | Shelves: 0 | Comments: 2

My first experimental poem, written on a bus.

The fresh wounds of a silent tale

Bare themselves to those who would look.

A flimsy wooden fence is shattered as an open gate

Where tyre tracks cut deep into the sodden earth.

No more to see

But the stench of rubber lies thick on the air

While screeching iron brakes seek out weak ears to torment.

The lake laps its winter dance below.

The constant motion betrays no secrets yet

Beneath its cool surface sits a blue machine

Inside, two of a kind, they sit still forever

Gazing forward, their fingers locked in a warm grip.

Submitted: January 16, 2009

Poetry dark death poetry sad

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shmeepea

i thought this was lovely. x

Fri, January 16th, 2009 5:09pm

Author
Reply

Thank you, Shmee, I'm really interested to hear if this poem worked the way I meant it to, and your comment is appreciated, because if I poem about two people dying can be called lovely then I guess it worked.

Fri, January 23rd, 2009 2:58pm

ReganFinch

Hello Neil :)

Well, you should definitely continue in your writing of experimental poetry. This is amazing and expertly descriptive. Your words contain a fluidity that is very rare these days, and for that, this is a masterpiece of personal poetry. Amazing work!

Please take care.

Mon, January 19th, 2009 12:52am

Author
Reply

Well, Regan, that's a very kind comment. Thanks for becoming my first (possibly last!) fan. I'll be sure to read your own stuff when I get back from work.