hum

The buzzing hum of solitude;
moving the pen, bailing out in
swerving curves and ink
writing away from the hives
whose flaring stings alight--

transforming the poet's eyes
into insatiable fireflies. They
know the tired plight of symphonic
embryos, the man's uninspired
innards, his breath trying to pulse
new rhythms into the cold air.

Knowing neither weather nor
climate, they hulk, pointed and ready
above rivers in deepest night,
and idle moments in brightest day.

About This Poem

About the Author

Comments

weirdelf

16 years 3 months ago

gorgeous

with a mind, wordcraft and imagery like that, how can the ink not flow? symphonic embryos priceless Cheers, Jess, reprehensibly irrepressible

Quillsvein1

16 years 3 months ago

Thank you my

man from down under! GB

Seren

16 years 3 months ago

Bravo Gb … wonderful

Bravo Gb ... wonderful write,this is my new favourite, one I will come back to again and again love and hugs Jayne-Chloe x x x x

Quillsvein1

16 years 3 months ago

Thank you

Seren!

whitetea

16 years 3 months ago

beautiful

inspiration remains to be a mysterious source. loved this.

Arrow

16 years 3 months ago

You had me from line 4

and the end was especially strong with the image of light over the river. I had to read this several times as I struggled with the transition from stanza 1 to 2 as it set the image of someone being stung in the eye then I got confused because I couldn't remember anyone ever being stung by a firefly, etc. I assume you're setting up a second image. In any case, it doesn't seem to have bothered anyone else. Recalls to me a little of Hesse's Beneath the Wheel.

Kassie

16 years 1 month ago

Oh WOW!

I always love reading poems about writing poems - not sure how to express it but its always sort of humorously ironic in a weird kind of way ... anyway I think my babbling has become a little nonsensical i better stop =) great write! =D