Sydney Poetry
A social site for poets in Sydney.
Fourteen Lines
My sofa is a book-yard,
A silent crash;
Anorexic pages thick with irony,
A poet’s graveyard in my living room,
Dulled jackets half open half eaten,
Dog-eared archetypes.
You compliment our 21st century sofa,
Upholstered in rust less syntax,
You close my olive eyes with pictures,
Like memories in a black and white photograph,
My warless life does not prevent me from hearing your voice,
Here I will thaw in winter’s sun, and listen to your stories,
Share a violin concerto, from my polycarbonate collection,
And research your history, your friends and family from my apple mac.
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Barb Russell on -
The imagery in this poem is sharp, intense, and provoking! The rhythm of the movement ebbs, Love it.
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Permalink Reply by David G Landgrebe on
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Thank you so much for your wonderful comment Barb, and for taking the time to comment. :)
Sincerely,
David. L
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Permalink Reply by Eugene Donnini on
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Wow!
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Thank you so much Phillip for your professional and generously adroit comments.
David. G. Landgrebe
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