i search for love on a cold dead morning

in the mornings, full of dread

i like to lay strands of my greasy hair

over my eyes, refocus, cornea stretching, scratching

allowing the silvery threads to become clearer

others to fade away, traces of breath on a freezing window

each hair picked out, some whispered, some blinding

like a motorway system designed by a madman

the veins of something not quite there

◄ don't breathe

me and Annie (or is it Annie and i) (or poem which succeeded a period of time in which i only read e.e. cummings) ►


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Martin Elder

Mon 18th Dec 2017 20:55

A magnificent piece Stu. I am fully with you in the opening line of
in the mornings, full of dread. I think I feel that most mornings. I am certainly not one of those to bounce out of bed to greet the dawn, and the whole description with your air, great stuff
Martin .

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Stu Buck

Wed 13th Dec 2017 15:28

hi guys,

thanks so much for your lovely comments, sorry for the delay in replying

beno - i simply opened my eyes one morning and new i had to write this down

suki - that was my favourite bit too!

cynthia - lovely comments thank you. not sure about narcissism, but i definitely have the confidence now to write exactly what i desire, knowing it will come out better than if i tried to pander to positivity and praise. if that makes sense!

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 11th Dec 2017 20:43

Your mind, its ideas and the resultant relationship of chosen metaphors, is truly awesome. And then you find the apt vocabulary to support these insights/outsights/resights. Is narcissism an essential factor? I'm honestly keen to know. Is it an essential aspect of amazing writing?

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suki spangles

Mon 11th Dec 2017 10:13

Excellent Stu!

..like a motorway system designed by a madman
the veins of something not quite there..

Thanks for sharing.

<Deleted User> (18474)

Sun 10th Dec 2017 16:20

Hi Stu.
This poem instantly reminded me of being a kid, when on a summers day I used to love closing my eyes so I could see the pink of my eye lids and watch the patterns the dust made floating on my corneas. I'd forgotten about it until now. Bizarre I know, a little like your poem. What ever made you think of it?
Enjoyed it very much. Beno.

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