Monday, September 15, 2008

Bitter Reflux (aka Bad Poetry)

She had hair that flew
when the top was down,
and reflected the light in her eyes-
built for fun, built for love,
she was ripe with the promise of life.

He was an artist,
a dreamer, (a prick)
a selfish myopic, eyes fixed on himself-
he used the word love like bait.

The chemistry of that time is gone,
only strands of memory drift down-
they loved - she lost
both him and their child,
and the meaning of things in her heart.

9 comments:

Chanda (aka Bea) said...

That wasn't bad at all!! I don't know why you would say that. The images are crystal clear, as well as the emotion those images bring to the surface. I thought it was beautiful - in my humble opinion.

"He was an artist,
a dreamer,(a prick)"

Ain't that the truth!

Ben and Bennie said...

The End of the Innocence. I think every one of us knows when that happened, who (or what) to blame, and will grieve Its loss the rest of our lives.

csquaredplus3 said...

This is NOT bad poetry. It's very good poetry. I'm Chris, and it's nice to meet you. The photo of those cookies are killin' me!

Maggie, Dammit said...

Oh, wow. I love it. (I especially like the use of parenthesis.)

Vodka Mom said...

that was fucking great. no shit.

flutter said...

bad, my ass! this is fab!

San Diego Momma said...

That is really good. What's this bad crap?

I knew a guy like that too, and I couldn't be as poetic about it as you were.

Also, your PROMPTuesday ruled, baby! Why you don't wear your poetry hat more often?

Gypsy said...

The rhythm of this is actually really good. And evocative.

Cheri @ Blog This Mom! said...

Wow. Isn't that a story we've all experienced in some way, which you tell so well, with grace and force at the same time. Wow.