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Array ( [sid] => 103793 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Words aren't good enough... [time] => 2005-08-17 23:44:13 [hometext] => Sorry, I just can not think of a title.. please help... with that... [bodytext] => I lived waist high in my family's world
beneath silver on the oak
and translucent china locked away.
I moved like spring
through dreaming autumn days,
through winter nights
when frost ferns greww on window panes
and flowered a summer when we dropped
from the greaan crannies of our oak
to the castle keep of the air raid shelter
behind the glass spiked walls
of our own backyard.We lit small fires
with stolen matcken, smoked cinnamon sticks
made our oaths in the smell of cat
in the chill damp dark.
The girl who lived downstairs was older,
all eyes, closed-curtain white,
where we were dirt and scabbed brown knees.
" Jew " they said. " From Germany " they said.
She never played and her parents stood aside
with averted eyes when we clattered past
to stage our wars on the shelter roof
The drapes would never open
to the summer glory.

I have wakened from the morning of my day;
the minarets are mortar now and brick
and I seein the dim despair behind the curtains
her memories still lie bright and cruel
as broken glass [comments] => 2 [counter] => 160 [topic] => 43 [informant] => Brandyx7 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 15 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )

Words aren't good enough...

Contributed by Brandyx7 on Wednesday, 17th August 2005 @ 11:44:13 PM in AEST
Topic: oops

I lived waist high in my family's world
beneath silver on the oak
and translucent china locked away.
I moved like spring
through dreaming autumn days,
through winter nights
when frost ferns greww on window panes
and flowered a summer when we dropped
from the greaan crannies of our oak
to the castle keep of the air raid shelter
behind the glass spiked walls
of our own backyard.We lit small fires
with stolen matcken, smoked cinnamon sticks
made our oaths in the smell of cat
in the chill damp dark.
The girl who lived downstairs was older,
all eyes, closed-curtain white,
where we were dirt and scabbed brown knees.
" Jew " they said. " From Germany " they said.
She never played and her parents stood aside
with averted eyes when we clattered past
to stage our wars on the shelter roof
The drapes would never open
to the summer glory.

I have wakened from the morning of my day;
the minarets are mortar now and brick
and I seein the dim despair behind the curtains
her memories still lie bright and cruel
as broken glass

Copyright © Brandyx7 ... [ 2005-08-17 23:44:13]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Words aren't good enough... (User Rating: 1 )
by hoist1atca on Wednesday, 17th August 2005 @ 11:51:14 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Good write-
Pick out the title for yourself otherwise this will not truly be your own work of art-
What were you thinking in your heart when you chose these words-not your thoughts with your mind but you heart with your feelings.
Joe

Re: Words aren't good enough... (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Thursday, 18th August 2005 @ 12:05:52 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

this poem is so well put together so descriptive in it's portrayal of things and places, very nice writting . . .

Ben

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