God’s moon, leavetaking
from the garden, the wildling from its fruit
I’ve killed; like the moon without its stalked
winters, I cannot behold reconciliation
of two silhouettes; the phone-line I cut
still lures my name.
in the echoes of the orange orchard,
perfumed in late air, eyes known the moon;
this stone will
not vanish, I could though
into disconnection, knowing then
of gods writhing with bony trees
is (at last) silent.
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Written for the dVerse prompt:
- see if you can hook yourself a new reader with upfront vivid images and unusual word use
- maybe stick with tradition (starting top left) or forge out in a new direction, maybe even a one line, or even a one-word poem (though please read the article that I’ve linked to Saroyan’s poem)
- perhaps try your hand at some found poetry, make something shapely or striking or something off the fridge
- or perhaps a poem beginning with a line by a poet who’s provoked or enthralled or charmed or annoyed you (don’t forget to link to the original poem in your post).