she sings
like a mild lute,
as if peace tuned
her arpeggios.
i don’t know
who fashioned this nymph,
or how she
dispels a latticework
of chirps
to lullaby
in gracious tones-
or why each note
strolls a different hall
of memory,
inlays a sensation
of pure touch, my body
hostage to dulcet phrase-
trill of a gypsy
i never knew,
though trees hoard
her jewelled sighs-
why now
will i melt into delight-
that ancient sensual
immersion?
~ Chris […]
Filed under: Chris Crittenden by akublik Date 1 November, 2007
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water drools
around teeth-like rocks,
growling
on a slope
that seems the mouth
of a wolf,
but really
grass isn’t fur,
and daisies don’t participate
in hunts.
why would a stream
pretend to be fierce?
does it stalk cattails
or perhaps clouds,
their taunting fleece?
~ Chris Crittenden
Chris Crittenden says that he is “a quirky hermit living in the easternmost town in Maine, just a few miles from the Canadian […]
Filed under: Chris Crittenden by akublik Date 29 October, 2007
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