Wednesday, April 9, 2008

All my friends are made of Paper (for frals)

I capture
faint impressions
of friends
in ink, (violet ink)
fold their wings
along crisp
invisible lines
melding missiles
of possibility…

soaring/swooping at the whim
of my questing fingers
away; away; away
from my muted dystopia:
perchance, they may
- locate the veiled faces
- of those
- I have lost
- or not yet found

whose hands
may be cupped beneath
autumns zephyrs
to claim them;
and send home to me…
(read between the feathers!)
in their own
gilded curlicues
or mad
graphite slashes

the secrets of
my angels’
flight


09 april 08

11 comments:

wreckfish said...

that is beautiful, ur style's elegant

oniongirl said...

ah! bless your ass for that.

elegant? heehee. now there's a first.

seriously (you know that word's never qoing to be the same again?!)...
i'n so fekking relieved that you like it. its the first 'real' thing i've written in around three months - and self confidence isnt my strong point to begin with - and then it wanes considerably when it comes to my 'dont have it' dabbles.

thank you

x100

wreckfish said...

i meant it too, and i sent the link to a mate of mine who i think will also enjoy it - fear not, not a svale local :D

i liked mad graphite slashes best

paper said...

in their own
gilded curlicues
or mad
graphite slashes


I love this bit.

oniongirl said...

fish... ta. isnt it incredible how we say so much of the same... and yet the words birth themselves in so many forms and hues...?
perhaps, i have learned to speak in riddles, never having earned the freedom to emote violently and clearly - or - my own spirit births the words in tangled limbs, with hidden face, because i cannot deal with the brutality of my own truth / fruits?

ag buggerit... rambling as usual.

be warned... it happens quite frequently!

oniongirl said...

paper.... great to 'see' a new 'face'.

thanks for the compliment.

see my comment to fish?

i 'perceive' the same with regard to writing style. the old poets wrote with flourish and attention to the visual beauty of the written word... and the very pages become works fo art - although their words were often lifeless...

then there was the likes of say... Jim Morrison, who wrote in those mad graphite slashes - slaying his own words with brutal dashes, to better portray his insight... careless; angry; bloodied splatters of wisdom and dream... and the hidden emotions beneath the words were so beautifulor vivid that they transcended their naked form?

erm... raaaambling. :-)

oniongirl said...

note to supporters:

impassioned rambling and attention to spelling are not bedmates.

apologies!

wreckfish said...

i have learned to speak in riddles, never having earned the freedom to emote violently and clearly - or - my own spirit births the words in tangled limbs, with hidden face, because i cannot deal with the brutality of my own truth / fruits?

that comment is lyrical itself

paper said...

The comment, you left me, just woah.

oniongirl said...

fish... thank you. i tend to slip into 'lyrical mode, when i am confronting or speaking 'truth' - a confirmation of that little piece... i instinctively soften it / convert it.
i think thats how the 'scribbles began'... a way to confront things creatively in my childhood... dress the monster in party gear, yes?

wreckfish said...

yes.

why can't i comment on ur new poems though, whyyyyy?

*whinge*