Poetry In Motion pg. 2

Perhaps the remembrance
     (your bergamot-scented hair
     sacred and sloe-eyed like
     daylilies in sorrowgrasses)
dawns elusive,
solemnly a delicious shrine
     (poisoned)

I prayed
     the weight o’ a Stone
     prepared and interrupted,
     daring struggles.
I wondered misfortune.
     O! such sheer things.

philosophy wandered The burden down
     Where fingers of autumn leaves
     saw Socrates’ multicolored sigh;
          the Fuhrer kissed bye

In the bleak of fields'
Technicolor-lacking grace,
a mare finds solace.

I stepped sharp
through reminiscence
and the piercing of beyond-youth found
me waist-high in fields o’broken ambitions

Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke