Things have been, and continue to be busy lately and it’s been a fallow time for my writing, but I have written some, and spring is often a productive time for me. I will post this brief poem for now, it is quite self-explanatory and rather simple, kind of an epilogue of Zen Love Poem…


The fire burns and I paint snowflakes
Into the picture for her, white flames
In her twists of hair, smouldering in auburn.
Something wrong with the canvas or brush
Or my artistry leaves her eyes empty
And her skin stroked cold. I finish
With something Rubenesque, yet Dali-ish,
Staring at a palimpsest of all she never was,
And all the things we might have been.

1 thought on “Metaphor

  1. the sense of enigmatic wretchedness that builds as this moves from hot to cold is gut wrenching. slowly, the poet paints one image over another. this is like a layered revelation. summer has moved into winter, warmth is frozen now and everything is clashing. your brushstroke-words are intensely poignant. you said that one of my short poems said so much – this is so powerfully compressed it feels like it might break open. stunning!

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