Friday, October 02, 2009

Autumn Menagerie 3: Chopin's Muse






















On Majorca, desolate, eyes red with preterition,
he faintly cries, "Polonia."
A figure resolves him.
Her eyes the skies of his nativity
subdue smothering horizons.

His fingers finesse the loss
she echoes within
beautifully.







8 comments:

Beysshoes said...

The last two lines added nothing and took away from a strong finish ... "His fingers finesse loss beautifully. She sings inside
him."

... Lovely girl. Lovely poetry.

Anonymous said...

If only her wrists were visible...

Anonymous said...

Her wrists, her wrists ... They could inspire his most exalted sonata. But alas, the piano is only a man-made instrument, and cannot render perfection ...

Anonymous said...

you know, I agree with beys on this, that's a killer closing..
but I wouldn't get rid of the last two lines, I'd swap the placement.

It almost seems like a sensory progression that way,
verbal - visual - tactile

beatiful though, regardless

Anonymous said...

beautiful even

Anonymous said...

I went with your, Sarai and Anon, suggestions and changed it. I find it ends better too...I did some other edits--I hope you find it suitable--


Thanks,

Zookeeper

P.S. Eyes, Image, Narcissus, Echo etc.....an easy trope.

Anonymous said...

Narcissus...

you don't say.

Anonymous said...

Thats one hot Polish vampire.