Inside a little brown envelope
Closed with a string clasp
Hidden in my skirts.
When I got a fever
It escaped
And I went red
Then yellow
Then black
From west to east across my skin
Like prairie in love with the lightning.
What's the matter?
Why don't you come to me anymore?
I can write more poems,
Hang the verses from my bones,
And you can find how I used to feel--
But you'll have to sully your
Sweet
White
Hands
Sifting with your fingers through my ashes.
_________
for Thursday Think Tank #33
photo by Metin Demiralay
30 spoke through the ouija:
This spirit wishes to tell you you're an awesome poet. Wait! I already told you that 100 times. So let me add that this poem is awesomely awesome, Michigan Woman.
xoxo
Great piece - it flows so well...lyrical.
I think I am becoming a little too predictable early on in my blogging endeavor but oh well. Fireblossom I am in love with you and your middle stanza.
"When I got a fever
It escaped
And I went red
Then yellow
Then black
From west to east across my skin
Like prairie in love with the lightning."
Love it!! The whole poem was awesome. I enjoyed yet another of what you wrote. I am signing this as Miss Envious.
I like that slap you in the face ending.
Fire/fingers/burnt? Old story, new words...
Wonderful writing! "like a prairie in love with the lightning"....and "hang the verses from my bones"......Inspired.
I particularly like "hang the verses
from my bones" Excellent.
Pamela
You have such a wonderful way with words....very much enjoyed your tale. xo
My first visit; I am truly impressed.
Why am I flashing on Poe--something about an envelope hidden in your skirts, and fever, and the color red..but then he's left way behind when the prairie falls in love with the lightning...another look through you eyes at an amazing and unknowable world....
the photo also freaked me out a bit--at first thought it was some Dali-esque cobra-giraffe with a woman's hair in it's mouth...maybe *I* have the fever.
Oooo I loved you name so I came to see who your were.
What a treat :)
hang the verses from my bones!!!
what an appeal.
GS
No risk, no reward. RIght, lovely Tiger?;-) Got to be willing to get your hands dirty for love, writing and anything else worth having.
xo
your Weasel-friend
Love this. Made me think. Made me wonder. Made me read it again. Good writing. And BYW-- you freaking cracked me up with your recent comment on my post. I like your fiery self!
I do not know how you do it, but you do....every time...you amaze me with your awesome talent Shay...i love this!!!!!!
:-)
I really like the line, "Hang the verses..." Fiery - and cool!
Shay, this is hauntingly beautiful~
Love how you ended it, with a shock.
I love your painted prose
You managed to find just the right words.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful piece.
"I can write more poems,
Hang the verses from my bones,"
Has to my favorite part. Your writing is always amazing Fire. Oh and I have made sure the Garden is back on the roll.
Such bittersweet sentiments.
Don't worry about the hands,
callous never feels.
in awe with how you described your fever...
Shay, you are ****ing brilliant! ;-)
Loved every word.
Feverish and painful
the fire and anguish are so lit up on the page Shay.
Don't ever stop lighting up the page dear.
Hugs ~ MDW
where do i go to get my hands dirty...you should have never tried to hold the fire anyway...let it loose shay...
Feels as if music should be set to it
Simply divine imagery, Shay.
Just lovely.
Holy shit, am glad I came here. So rich, really full and rich. I LOVE the word 'sully' - just feels decadent to read it. Thats why i read it a whole bunch of times. Made me feel greedy, so yes, this is my favorite bit:
"But you'll have to sully your
Sweet
White
Hands"
xx
Great piece, of this 'fire wrapped in folded paper'.
A gorgeous poem from it's folded paper beginning to ashy end!
This is awesome, Shay! I love the second stanza--the "prairie in love with the lightning." But of course, the ending is perfect. I can just see those "sweet white hands" getting sullied by black ash. Nice!
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