poetry critical

online poetry workshop

And You Were Ivy Climbing Momma's Grave

you were lost poetry,
stanzas sonnets never started.
you were breath on frozen windows,
color shining through a quiet mist.
you were cold apartments,
city lights from fifty floors
and sleeping 'neath a pile
of someone else's clothes.
you were rides bummed off
of tired truckers,
greying beards, sad stories
of forgotten dates, forgotten names.
you were the outskirts of nashville,
late december
dim christmas lights on icy streets.
you were pop songs on the radio,
melodies in soothing static.
you were talking to the night
and expecting a response;
you were crickets
you were owls
and you were cars on sundry streets.
you were hissing rain and autumn sweaters.
you were stale coffee, patchouli perfume
and you were someone else's muse
before I ever had the nerve
to dream of you.

16 Feb 07

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Exquisite, beginning to end.  Thank you for this, whoever you are.
 — Isabelle5

do you read much ginsburg?
 — unknown

Isabelle - Thank you.

unknown - Not that much. I sometimes find him hard to stomach.
 — the_recluse