Late, per usual. I had an immense amount of difficulty with this one. I’m still not happy with it, but I’m going to go ahead and post it as is. I’ll be posting after this about W&Q 12 since I’ll be hosting it for the month of May.
Bereft
The words transport me to a lumpy gray couch–
Hands clasped under Navajo weave
Staring at a fire on a 13″ screen, space heater not far between–
You could never start a fire, but my heart’s engulfed in flames
As we sat sipping cocoa, I asked you for a poem–
Not a sonnet, but not Silverstein, please–
And so you obliged with a limerick comprised
Of language I dare not repeat
You could never make cocoa without any lumps,
But my thirst is always quelled
I still feel the heat from the lick of those flames
And their warmth effervescing inside
–But, no, that’s just the rays of the sun–
And so here I stand and here it remains,
The all and the everything that knocks and strains
Culled from nothing but ink on a page
Word: thirst
Question: When will you come to visit me?
Head over to Dauvit’s page to read the other poems.
Yeah, when WILL you come and visit me?
The poem is vivid and lucid — captures an atmosphere wonderfully!
Ah, limericks… I don’t think I’d ever recite to you an unrepeatable limerick. In fact, I don’t much like repeating anything unrepeatable… I do love the sort of palpable affection expressed here, the sort that overwhales much that is superficial; although I might brag about my own fire-building abilities! Much good they do me indoors and without a fireplace… ah, well.
This one’s “not my style.” But that’s because it makes me uncomfortable, which means that you did a good job with it…..
+JMJ+
Oh, how sad . . . =(
At first I thought the poem was repeating rather than answering the question . . . and then it occurred to me that the person wanting a “visit” might already be dead–in which case, any visit by the speaker would be a permanent reunion. (Am I very far from what you had in mind when you were writing this?)