Dec 19, 2009

26th Virtual Poetry Circle

Here we are, Virtual Poetry Circle #26.  I know I have winners to announce from the big 25th Virtual Poetry Circle giveaway.  I hope you all took advantage of your possible 25 entries.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

We're back to contemporary poets again this week.  Since we've had the pleasure of meeting Liz Gallagher, it's only fitting that we share one of her poems from her collection The Wrong Miracle.

A Bruising on the Bone (page 2)

I saw my shoulder's skeleton today.  Under the headlights
the bone's shadow migrated into the half-crumbling step

it had bashed against.  I saw how a bone can bruise
and how my fear of a capsule sticking in the windpipe

cannot be swapped for a sachet of powder.  I recognised
by heart, the act of letting my shirt tails out.  The deep

breathing in the room did not stop.  I removed
the red wristwatch and the red bra-straps

and tilted my head.  She slammed the door shut.  And I
became a recumbent body being passed overhead,

hand over hand, right up to where the Edge was
playing.  I dreamt about stripping down to my

unlaced shoes.  I had glossy, bouffant hair and improvised
a Modus Vivendi.  All around me, I heard pleas

for every last result to go under the microscope.  I began
to recognise the tipping points.  Afterwards, I wore

a windbreaker and stopped pointing with my feet.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.


Anna said...

I really don't know what to make of this one. I've read it over a couple of times, and nothing is really popping out at me. I do like the lines, "I recognised by heart, the act of letting my shirt tails out." To me, it feels like the poem is supposed to be profound, but I'm just not getting it. Please enlighten me, Serena, o wise one. LOL (Seriously, can you tell it's 5:30 in the morning on a Sat. and I should still be sleeping!!)

Diary of an Eccentric