“Crying Twilight” The Sunday Whirl #97

This sublime sad night, beguiled yet unruined,
welcome to overlook worn underneath,
occasional poet in listless attempt,
sounding out words as a phantom bequeathed.

Wreaking astronomy, told in old clothes,
stuttered occasionally, melted on Sundays.

Prophets laid out in bidden romance,
a martyred conundrum of
glowing ashamed, mid-puff
revealed by token embrace.

Early persuasion rested abreast,
caught by a rapid-drunk moment of
moon, pieces of notes fell impatient stars,
as discipline tears such gentle hands.

Lancing the doving moon, grackles cry,
taking flight from this forlorn roof, to gaze in brief,
yet shivered reflection, away from the doving moon;
from such broken glass found in sweet silver meadows
as twilight darkens its swaying light,
grackles cry and beckon occasion
away from this poet’s room.


8 responses to ““Crying Twilight” The Sunday Whirl #97

  1. Like the super-natural twist – striking images!

  2. Lots of concrete images here. I enjoyed reading this!

  3. really nice use of textures in this pamela….the grackles cry, the forlorn roof, broken glass, shivered reflection….just in that last stanza…throughout they build well the mood of the piece…

  4. Read it aloud… it makes some really good sounds…

  5. Great inspiration for one of my collage pieces of art! Nicely whirled.

  6. “lancing the doving moon” – what a delicious phrase – it keeps repeating in my mind as I conjure how that might look or seems … this is a very evocative poem and I find myself drawn to reading re-reading it … nice.


  7. Liked your verse, reminded me of Dead Poets Society until you came to the grackles, my archenemies… Then reminded me of when The Raven cried Nevermore…. 😉

  8. Wonderful sound and visuals!

I appreciate all comments.

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