Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Murdering Poetry

I would kill
for a voice that could read poetry
as finely honed as a boning knife
Plunged into the heart.

Incisive as fangs
sliced across arteries
spilling blood in fountains
onto the slavering faces
of howling wolves
 
My cheerful brogue slipping
into dark nightmares
and flourishing
as a bone deep canker
eating you away
from the inside
and slipping
the noose
tight 
around your neck
until the air
kicking under your heels 
is still.

See, the powdered words
no longer dry upon the page
arise
a poisoned ink
that flows
within your veins
and through your soul
until your heart
no longer pains
and your death is wholly 
entertain'd.

A J Ponder




It always amazes me just where and how inspiration strikes.  This poem has been brewing dormant for the best part of a year but it wasn't until Harvey commented on Rudyard Kipling that it hurried out faster than a smuggler with the redcoats after him. 

3 comments:

  1. I love the image of poetry like a boning knife plunged into the heart - that's exactly what it feels like when you read a good poem. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Something kept pulling me back again and again to this Tuesday poem. I have revisited your site many times to read over this deliciously powerful poem. Thanks for posting!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Cheers Kathleen, missing your poem this week, I hope you're not too horribly busy and everything is well :)

    And of course Elizabeth too, thanks - there's nothing a poet (I think I can call myself a poet) likes to hear more than their poem is worth coming back too :)

    ReplyDelete