Hammocks tip easily when two
people lie inside, so try
hard to be still. Nothing but
your lips should move. Alright,
you can move your hips, too.
Like that, yes, that’s fine.
But I digress. We lounge
in this precarious net,
and you are feeding
me poems you want
to see written.
For instance: The sunshine
after a rainy night is like
right now.
Such a line, but the poem
you want to write is different
than my own. You want to hear
how rainfall mirrored
our biting words in the night,
pitter patter of jealousy
on the skin,
How when light
crept into the room, we caressed
each other’s faces and spoke
plainly, how we were illuminated
as the room was illuminated,
how when we stepped outside
the air was fresh as we were fresh,
new things erupted in blossom
on the same tree.
You will have to write it yourself.
My poem concerns the moment
in the hammock when finally
it is still.
3 comments:
Sam, I like this poem very much but the title not so much. :)
My only quibble is this:
"Hammocks tip easily when two
people lie inside, so try
hard to be still. Nothing but
your lips should move. Alright,
you can move your hips, too.
Like that, yes, that’s fine."
It just seems to crude and obvious to me. The rest of this is quite beautiful, insightful, wise even. For me at least, this makes the first stanza seem even more coarse than it perhaps is in actuality. Tough to fix because you clearly need the stanza so I'll have a run at it:
Hammocks tip too
easily when two lie
inside, so try hard
to be still. Nothing
but your lips should
move a little closer
to mine engaged so
words will not upset
this delicate balance.
Heh Okay, best I can do at 4am.
Thanks for posting this, Sam! It's really fine piece. One of your best I think.
Cute piece Sam. You might lose some filler. like 'and', 'are' and 'to see' here.
But I digress. We lounge
in this precarious net,
you feeding
me poems you want
written.
Sweet piece.
Hi Sam,
I love this! I think PB & Eve have made some good points on ways to edit, and I agree with what they say.
I like the whole idea of the poem, of the two people in the hammock, one "feeding" poems to the other, when that person needs to write the poems herself/himself. But then the narrator/speaker (sounds quite a lot like you!) goes on to write
some beautiful images anyway.
"...how rainfall mirrored/out biting words in the night,/pitter patter of jealousy/on the skin..."
How great is that?! The next stanza is fresh and sweet and I love the very last stanza as well.
Thanks!
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