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I dove after the Pomegranates
by Shirin SwiftHer voice chides, to reach is not to reach far
nor to take silent sips from a teacup
in a roomful of people.
I ask how did you discover your repertoire?
She says I dove after the pomegranates,
dropped my letters, my life, my clothes, into the stream
to see, not where they went, but how far I would go
to collate the villatic distance that erupts
between the pasteurized cities of the brain and its pastures;
Serene sips, my appetite
rolls with beheaded gooseberries,
beautifully severed spirit & trampled passions,
gliding toward me on a white dinner plate;
I rejoice in fruity tastes shrunken suns
broken out of their husks. 11/15/2006 Posted on 11/15/2006
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 11/15/06 at 04:53 PM I too dive after pomegranates and they and the other fruits do glide toward us on white dinner plates (although I tend to prefer yellow or red for meals) the page filling with our shrunken suns. (A fantastic image.) This goes beyond surreal, in fact does what surreality is meant to do, clarify in a way no other way can do. I looked up villatic and it's perfect for that space between city and pasture of course. Wonderful analogy here and everywhere. I love it. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 10/09/07 at 02:26 PM Congrats on POTD! |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/10/07 at 12:50 AM Superb POTD! I love the idea of diving after something, and that being pomegranates just is such a fascinating visual. I, too, looked up villatic and find it a fitting word and trippingly on my tongue. The rolling beheaded gooseberries just makes me laugh. I love this!!! |
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