The Loveless

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My bed was cold last night

The loveless

Folding nebulous depths

Surrounding

Pounding

Icy chiller kisses

Killer darkness

Biting

Upon a moaning wind

Its ragged breath

Smothering

Crawling beneath the coverlet

Fingers of bone tightening

Lightening

Searing splitting

Spitting

Seeds of ice

Into a furnace too long cold for the lighting

 

◄ Hand to Mouth Haiku

Hunter\\'s Moon ►

Comments

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Augusta Darling

Thu 10th Dec 2009 18:53

Surely I cannot be the only girl who has experienced this, thats not to say that a man cannot, however I can only reflect my experiences, which as you have already suggested Isobel may be best tempered.,


The very idea of warming my flue and making suitable adjustments to my vent is just unthinkable.

Bless you all and thank you so much for reading and commenting.

Augusta x

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Noetic-fret!

Tue 8th Dec 2009 00:44

I have to say ditto to andy's comments, i too felt that this piece could have expanded on to something more substantial, ehup, us poets never happy eh. Nice one though, very engaging

Mike

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Andy Williamson

Sun 6th Dec 2009 22:00

Hi Augusta, A harsh and well written piece. But I found myself left wanting from reading this, as if it was the first part of a longer piece. I felt left hanging for the conclusion.

It's never a nice feeling to have a cold bed - either with nobody there, or perhaps worse WITH someone there.

Take care
Andy x

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Isobel

Sun 6th Dec 2009 17:25

A sad one Augusta, which is lifted only by the commentary beneath. Tommy - is this frigidity? I would say that it is probably more like a new Ice Age and I'm guessing we are beyond the recommendations of a good hot water bottle. I seem to be following Debz around and just love her extended use of imagery - all you need is to warm the flue first...must remember that one! Can love be raised from the dead? Ros says yes, yes, yes - all it takes is a good man - how would she know I ask myself? Tee hee hee - I'm not going to give you the benefit of my experience...that would be far too revealing.

Deborah Jordan

Sun 6th Dec 2009 15:46

With the right kindling,a moaning,ragged wind is the best kind to coax a furnace into life. No furnace is ever so cold that it does not welcome the new life of a flame.Trick is to warm the flue first and open and close vents as the flame flickers and grows into life. Soon,you feel the release of sunlight from inside black diamonds. The ice melts.
Love this poem, i wish you heat under your coverlet, Debz xx

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Ros

Sun 6th Dec 2009 15:04

Hi Augusta, this poem makes me sad. Have been there and can relate to it very well, but the right man will be able to relight the furnace! x

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Jeff Dawson

Sun 6th Dec 2009 14:44

Hi Augusta, thanx so much for your comment on 'The journey of your life' very much appreciated. I did wonder about using 'fireworks' twice but thought appropriate here, so not quite a beating yet! Thanx again

Onto your loveless poem, I felt cold reading it, great use of words, really enjoyed it -

Killer darkness
Biting
Upon a moaning wind
Its ragged breath
Smothering
Crawling beneath the coverlet

- these stand out in a fine piece of work, will read the Voyeur on the wall later, looks very interesting, keep writing, Jeff X

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Tommy Carroll

Sun 6th Dec 2009 01:20

...so this is............. 'frigidity'...?

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