Falling
It starts
With me not necessarily realising
I’ve remembered your name
Quicker than the rest.
Words
That wring colour
From grey –
A post-industrial dockland
By moonlight. And I
Whose semi-unpacked youth
Resides
Behind the gritted teeth
Of my flies
Realise,
With the tender thump of a summer shower,
That I've thought of you
one-too-many times
In the last hour.
Comments
Parson Thru | August 5, 2012 - 12:52
I love this galeforce. gritted teeth of my flies - where did that come from? Brilliant! Captures a lot in a few words. Nice one.
galeforce7 | August 5, 2012 - 13:11
Thanks, Parson! Appreciate the comment :)
Alex
Archie_Macjoyce | August 5, 2012 - 13:39
I like the subtle rhymes and half-rhymes of youth/teeth and shower/hour.
The whole thing is quite subtle. There seem to be erectile overtones (or are they undertones?)...
galeforce7 | August 5, 2012 - 14:06
"Tones" of some sort I guess. I just remember a couple of months back liking the phrase "gritted teeth of his flies" to describe a guy's pent-up/"jailed" sexuality and wanted to find a narrative to crowbar it into. Thanks for the comment!
alex_tomlin | August 5, 2012 - 20:59
Some great imagery and an effectively understated last line.
Shannan | August 6, 2012 - 08:45
Very clever... and it's not only boys who think of a name FAR too much in one hour ;-) I like!
shoe | August 6, 2012 - 12:25
'the tender thump of a summer shower,'
so that's what it feels like!!!
Lovely poem.
Highhat | August 6, 2012 - 14:09
"words that wring colour from grey..."
what a brilliant line. A lot packed into these few lines.. I liked it very much
;)Pia
galeforce7 | August 8, 2012 - 09:40
thank you, all :)
Alex