Array ( [sid] => 184012 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Transfiguration [time] => 2017-03-18 11:17:45 [hometext] => Sufficiently different from /'/The Fall/'/ to post anew. Only the kernel of intent is carried here. [bodytext] =>


Imbued haughty pair of Crockett & Jones,
cobbled to fracture a seam of smile
by those destroyers of cultures,
now in inanimate compliance,
pound hallowed mahogany floors-
staccato sound roars from soul to sole-

hand made loafers, formerly twin lovers to

Composed Man;
(“Threadneedle Tycoon Cheats Death in 40 Meter Cliff Fall!”)

at last, unplugged from tubed, beeping cocoon-

The Outer;
skin, bone, the unimportant,
mending well, pharma fed;

The Inner:
Composed Man,
(that which held the Outer ‘composed’)
blessedly dead.

New eyes opened.

Jagged Man,
leaving behind (forever) a now repugnant
Kensington manse,
had footwear to choose,
and one hour hence,
not caring two-pence,
of random chance seized upon those very shoes.

Returned to the Eye of the Needle,
smiling to his audible abuse;
(“What’s wrong with him?” fluttered Composed Ones)
sole slap, sole slap, sole slap-
Jagged Man, mightily bemused
so trite a thing a bite of sound could wring
lips pursed, eyes aghast.

“Poor dears”, his eyes spoke to them
with a wave goodbye.

Grateful to die to be alive at last. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 468 [topic] => 31 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Transfiguration


Transfiguration
Date: Saturday, 18th March 2017 @ 11:17:45 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno



Imbued haughty pair of Crockett & Jones,
cobbled to fracture a seam of smile
by those destroyers of cultures,
now in inanimate compliance,
pound hallowed mahogany floors-
staccato sound roars from soul to sole-

hand made loafers, formerly twin lovers to

Composed Man;
(“Threadneedle Tycoon Cheats Death in 40 Meter Cliff Fall!”)

at last, unplugged from tubed, beeping cocoon-

The Outer;
skin, bone, the unimportant,
mending well, pharma fed;

The Inner:
Composed Man,
(that which held the Outer ‘composed’)
blessedly dead.

New eyes opened.

Jagged Man,
leaving behind (forever) a now repugnant
Kensington manse,
had footwear to choose,
and one hour hence,
not caring two-pence,
of random chance seized upon those very shoes.

Returned to the Eye of the Needle,
smiling to his audible abuse;
(“What’s wrong with him?” fluttered Composed Ones)
sole slap, sole slap, sole slap-
Jagged Man, mightily bemused
so trite a thing a bite of sound could wring
lips pursed, eyes aghast.

“Poor dears”, his eyes spoke to them
with a wave goodbye.

Grateful to die to be alive at last.

This poem is Copyright © invierno


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