Sifting the poetry
showing while stitching last row to the row.
Verse is collapsing from being too free,
wealthy in senses, but broken a wee.
Locally, vocally, likely with luck
searching, sound-lurching for rhymes to be plucked.
This one from heaven and that one from hell
thanks to the angels for ringing the bell.
Pulling and bulling – the strategy pace,
striking, up-hiking, perusing the chase –
poetry’s sifted through afterlife’s sieve,
dough to be made from “forget” and “outlive”.
November 4, 2008
Copyright ©2008 Iouri Lazirko
Свидетельство о публикации №108110403819
Беляева Дина 30.12.2008 23:34 Заявить о нарушении
Так, играя, вырисовывается мир наших мыслей, но в не в четкости линий его осязанье... :)
Юрий Лазирко 31.12.2008 07:11 Заявить о нарушении