Waking Whispers

Words; tripping around my head

as dawn overtakes me,

evade capture to slip away silent, silken

like shredded mist gripped in pale fingers

tattered images about not wearing brave emotion

for another goodbye which tugs fearful ears.

What dream echoed my cavernous mind,

lingered as I surfaced slowly from sleep?

And of course I want to poem it,

entomb it in meaning,

understand thought's inapparent portent

and hope to snatch further glimmers

before sun burns off the last remnants

easy as clouds in a desert morning.

Though with pen I plumb the depths

nothing hooks to ease wonder's burden

no idea which emotion or who speaks

leaves me shaken slightly;

these waking whispers have become before;

I'll watch for omens.

◄ Title revision in progress!

Sunday ►

Comments

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Elaine Booth

Tue 1st Mar 2011 19:56

I know just what you mean here! Such a shame I missed your debut! Next time. xxx

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winston plowes

Sun 20th Feb 2011 22:49

Hi again
Don't be put off. the Tudor is actually avery tough gig and not at all representative of the usually more gental and intimate open mic experience, keep going :-) Win x

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Petrova Fairhurst

Tue 15th Feb 2011 16:38

My first foray into performance poetry - it was scary in that spotlight but enjoyable none-the-less. Read at the Tudor...

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