Washing Day

By Silver Spun Sand

Wed, 05 Aug 2015
  • 1194 reads
7 comments
 
Her smalls on the line – slow shimmying with the breeze;
a gentle easterly – carries with it a hint of a scent of air-dried thyme
and lavender, such that drifts into his mind in reverie...presently 
a vague memory of what had been a blue-bagged ague 
of juvenile longing.
 
A sudden April squall, and like no-hope angels with their quest
of leaving this world for the next...the chemise, the slip, relinquish 
their attempt; unable to break free 
 
the sun drowns in a deluge of watercolour splendour. 
Cimmerian cloaked, the night gathers them in its folds, 
to weft and weave beneath a coiling, uncoiling ocean of stars, 
softly settling on a bed stained silver by the moon,
 
smoothed by the hand reaches out for another’s – 
spoke the name of whomsoever they once used to be;
smoothing every kink, each crease, each dint 
into a sweet dreamed fantasy.
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Romance

Comments

Submitted by hilary west on

And this is a beautiful 'sweet-dreamed fantasy' too. Much enjoyed !!!  smiley

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thank you, hilarysmiley

 

Submitted by Bee on

There's a dance here - the movement through the poem and the clothes as gestures that are literally captured to tell the story that's sort of breathed through the air around them.

Bee

Submitted by Bee on

There's a dance here - the movement through the poem and the clothes as gestures that are literally captured to tell the story that's sort of breathed through the air around them.

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Many thanks, Bee.

Tina

 

Submitted by EB on

'the night gathers them in its folds, 
to weft and weave beneath a coiling, uncoiling ocean of stars, 
softly settling on a bed stained silver by the moon,'

Here's beauty capturing memories even when they try to escape. 
 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

So very many thanks for your indepth appreciation of this poem, EB.  Means a lotsmiley

Tina