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bottom of the barrel
by Ginette T Bellethe morning fell upon me bleak
dipped my pink toes into the icy lake
to numb unhealthy fear
the wake spitting forth ripples
to drown out the lazy accusations
this poetry speaks nothing to me
it sits like milk skimmed over from last week
hollow, skipped stones refusing to sink
deep below where everything in me lays
sometimes i wish i could speak to him
like my mind speaks to myself
so when i'm flailing and out of control
i won't have to make him guess 08/01/2005 Author's Note: i wish i remembered how to write
Posted on 08/02/2005
Copyright © 2025 Ginette T Belle
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Paul Marino on 08/02/05 at 07:43 AM that was depressing. damn. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/02/05 at 04:51 PM IMO a good draft, with room for improvement in the meditation on and expansion of idea seedlings planted in the lines/soil of your mind. I especially like these two lines: sometimes i wish i could speak to him
like my mind speaks to myself...couldn't have said it better Ginette. Good luck and keep at it. *hugs*
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| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 08/06/05 at 02:25 PM oh you know how to write, my dear... yes indeed... this gave me chills... blessings... |
| Posted by Carolyn Coville on 08/10/05 at 09:35 PM everything always makes more sense in our own, private thought processes...and just cuz the poetry doesnt speak to you doesnt mean it doesnt speak to somebody else; i thought this was quite lovely |
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