Hi Christina,
I'm borrowing someone else's e-mail to make my comment, so I hope I don't
confuse things! I've also not read all the posts I guess this must have
generated already (being too idle, at the mo, to get into the archives!).
But I like what this is doing, I like how it's doing it as well!
The first line startles me and then the poem never lets me relax all the way
through. All the way through I'm thinking, "Yeh, I never expected that to be
said!" But do, please, sort out the last line and a half! It needs something
as enigmatic as what you've got, I guess, but with words as in touch with
ordinary sounding things as the rest of the poem... (even if vanes and
quills are oarts of chimneys - chimneys aren't really part of everyday life
for most people anymore... are they?) And the title???? I think you're right
in aiming at something short - but not sure if it's the right word...
Bob
>
> Wings
>
>
> I heard the Holy Ghost today.
> You'd think they'd mew but no:
> no ears pricked up to scan the sound.
> They yawned, that's all. And then
> they bared their bellies to the sky.
>
> I carried on unfolding sheets,
> deciphering the doubled stains:
> death moths and masks, sly eyes
> and genitals -- until I saw the wall
> and noticed glass set in the brick
>
> but veiled with paint.
> Well, I teased and peeled the skin.
> If there was anything behind the pane,
> I couldn't see it. And now I've wicks to dip
> and lippy mouths to feed.
>
> Think what you like: no sweat.
> And yes, it must have been a rat,
> a gush of soot, the pointless flap
> of vanes split to the quill by wind.
>
>
>
>
>
> christina fletcher
>
>
>
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