Meeting the Bar~dVersePoets~The Ghost
This week at Meeting the Bar, Poet Emmett Wheatfall takes the stage to share his thoughts on the craft. The purpose of this feature is for us to learn and improve, growing confidence in our work, and becoming better Poets. I am truly excited, and feel incredibly blessed to have this valuable resource, and such a vibrant community to share my bumps and bruises with! Again, I do find the process of critique incredibly intimidating, more so because of the talent that oozes through the pub walls, and it did take some battling with myself to work up the nerve to post...but like the lottery, you can't win it if your not in it, and if I am sincere in my desire to become a better poet, then I best get over myself real quick! So, dear dVersePoets...thank you, and as always...be gentle! ;)
The Ghost
It's there
though I can't see it
its weight is felt
Like pressure building
to the point of explosion
but the fuse remains
stagnant, unlit
no fire to speak of.
Its tools lay
steel gray, bleeding blue
on a backdrop of unmarred
pure, stark
plainness...yes, dancing in shadows
it taunts, teases, belittles
begrudges
my space, my time
impedes my mind
hindered by the half thought
as my blood turns to blue
begins to seep through
but the idea, the great epiphany
purpose remains
hidden behind the veil
dead. Much like vapor it
wets the ink just enough
to curl the paper's edge.
While slowly my thoughts succomb
to the ghost.
The Ghost
It's there
though I can't see it
its weight is felt
Like pressure building
to the point of explosion
but the fuse remains
stagnant, unlit
no fire to speak of.
Its tools lay
steel gray, bleeding blue
on a backdrop of unmarred
pure, stark
plainness...yes, dancing in shadows
it taunts, teases, belittles
begrudges
my space, my time
impedes my mind
hindered by the half thought
as my blood turns to blue
begins to seep through
but the idea, the great epiphany
purpose remains
hidden behind the veil
dead. Much like vapor it
wets the ink just enough
to curl the paper's edge.
While slowly my thoughts succomb
to the ghost.
Comments
hidden behind the veil
dead. Much like vapor it
wets the ink just enough
to curl the paper's edge.
Beth
http://henryclemmons.wordpress.com/2011/09/29/time-to-fly/