Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Birds of Paradise


Birds of Paradise
.
.
Another day behind your iron drapes
ends with no vision of the moon, broken off like
an uncharted dirt road, knowing tomorrows journey will
again take you to nowhere
.
As you drift into the oblivion of darkness
again you see her standing, waving from the shoreline
in her hair, a red flower brilliant as
the sun you rarely see
.
Her hands as white as ivory, her fingers
delicate as
wisps of Pampas Grass swaying in the breeze
majestically beckon you to follow her home
to where you yearn to be once more
.
Behind her, the island stretches off the coast like
a garden of paradise awaiting your return and
your backbone rigid like a starched rope
reflects your building intent
.
As off in the distance you feel the crescendo nearing
the bicycle careening down the hill like
an out of control rocket on its way
to the stars you one day may again visit
.
She's as soft as just plucked down yet screams like
the crazy bird, its song like mournful trills sound the pleasure
of the approaching feeling of wholeness
and the pain of the plucking all in one
.
Dreams behind bars are all that you still have of your own
until you awaken. She spun off like a woman
desirous of rushing to meet the maker of
her soul that very instant
.
From the bunk above you hear his monotonous voice
like
every other morning that you must rise
and face the continuing existence of just one
more empty, sorrowful, drawn out part of a year
.
Who ever decided that jail in lieu of gas was less cruel
never spent a single minute in here, I'm sure
days pass like having the pleasure of an elephant sit on your chest
but oh, the nights are pure paradise

8 comments:

paisley said...

you did great with this... i on the other hand was lost... i did my best,, but a "story" it is not... i didn't like the phrases at all,, they just didn't fit in comfortably for me....

susan said...

"her fingers
delicate as wisps of Pampas Grass"

really liked this line though admittedly I don't know what Pampas Grass is. Is it really delicate?

Will read a few more times and comment again later.

Thanks for the read.

tumblewords said...

Very nice. Your story is evident and your use of the multitude of similes worked well. Very nice!

gautami tripathy said...

"days pass like having the pleasure of an elephant sit on your chest
but oh, the nights are pure paradise"

You truly made my day with these lines..

SA said...

The title really fits into the poem for me and the story was well told. The line "he moon, broken off like
an uncharted dirt road," is my favorite simile.

Michelle Johnson said...

I love this poem and the images this sets in my mind. You have won me over with this piece. I simply love the way you used these phrases. Thanks for sharing. Have a nice weekend.

mariacristina said...

you took me inside the narrator's mind, and then led me to read again with the ending.

I think the pampas in Argentina have long grass that blows in the wind, like stalks of wheat. The wind moving through the grass creates a delicate movement, like long hair blowing in the wind.

susan said...

New piaster is up

http://piasterplace.blogspot.com/