by Alastre Zidler

Above the cemetery dust
And grey dead roots gnarling
Twisting 4 feverish hands
Struck the brittle slate earth
Bellowing the name
Of a Phoenix

Lo, such days of vacant sleep,
Walking in one’s body
Despite a lack of movement -
An inverted replica

What passion
Have I yet to

Fresh waters of the wellspring
From behind the veinwork I emerge
And in my hand, something pulsing red,
Alive and new.


Author's Note: Am I back? I don't know yet...

Posted on 04/20/2005
Copyright © 2022 Alastre Zidler

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Graeme Fielden on 04/26/05 at 03:38 PM

Inspiring, multi-dimensional words, Al...Nice to see ya posting again. Nice stuff :)

Posted by Alison McKenzie on 05/09/05 at 10:33 PM

You know I adore your style, the splash of images in words, your color choices and the removal of the "Do not disturb the Genius" sign :-)

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