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Three People and Falling Stars

by Sabine

Three People and Falling Stars

She knelt down and poured words though her fingers like sand
They spread out over the liquid ground that became the sky
And they slid down the glass like meteors or all the stars losing hold
And crying off the ceiling like a thousand drops of ice and light.
The words were chilled by night, and dry above her tears,
In the daytime they were warm dried powder of rocks,
Coloured with past and voices and trickled onto terra-cotta dust.
Now she perches in the grotto and spreads them into the blue-green dark,
On the edge of something, surrounded by a purple glow,
A knowing smile on her eyes and lips, like motherhood and secrets,
The woman’s eyes are downcast, following her spell’s journey,
She is looking up under soft lashes and slyness, to gaze at you.

Heat and cold, heaven and hell crowded in this same room together,
Life, death, all manifestations of emotions sat next to each other,
Like passengers in a subway car that’s too full, half of them smoking cigarettes.
They chatted of simple things, like the passage of man on his zigzagging run
And who’s going with to buy the milk and the bread and butter
And whether or not this cough that you’ll get will turn into pneumonia.

That man looked down at his manuscript with awe and fear and salty resign,
He had spoken with the eloquence of a man who knew his end was nigh.
He wanted to burn his masterpiece, the owl and the spirit told him it was the last,
But that, he thought, deprive the world of his departed soul, this burning effigy,
When the dawn came in over frost and trees, he went out with the rain,
Holding the hands of the children and dragons of light
With head turned over his shoulder, departing from whole colors and breath,
Whistling goodbye to soldiers and the saints of reform,
Songs that he learned when the village caved in.

The stars, the stars are falling, I heard you set them on their course,
The painted candy glass is breaking and the sun is coming through.
Sound of the storm means there’s a hole in the wall that’s holding back the sea,
Little blue-eyed girl is trying to stop the leak with her hand,
Her determination is the colour of dying coal and living embers
With the bleach of the wind and spray her hair is turning white on her head
And when the wall crumbles away from the brine and the earth
She takes her knees up off the grass and reaches out to hold back the flaming sea,
With her thin child arms and eyes turned up to the origin of tears.
She presses the ocean to her chest like a doll or a daughter,
It’s ashen and silky bulk is a bundle of sapphire and sand
And the folded back myths of man or beast and weighted with gems.
The edges of the flood trail out of her embrace like the edges of a quilt,
As she rests her head atop her load and carries it back to her room,
And following behind her are the maidens of lapis and gold,
And the parade of globes and doves and hounds that follow the trail of milk.
She is ready for her mother standing of the doorway of her home,
To lift the water away and wipe her clean with hands and cloth.

The girl is only waiting for the rain of liquid words to drink

Alternately titled 'Painting in the Upstairs Hall. I was thinking about meteor showers when i wrote it and too many other things to count. Make of it what you will but tell me what you think. be brutally honest. [/pre]

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145 Reviews

Points: 890
Reviews: 145

Wed Feb 02, 2005 1:53 pm
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Skye wrote a review...

Wow...I'm speechless. That was really, totally, completely, without a doubt beautiful. I agree with CAG77 in saying that some of the lines are awkwardly phrased, which does detract from the poem being the best it can be. I also agree that this should really belong in Narrative Poems, although I suppose Other is satisfactory enough. I just wanted you to know that I wasn't losing interest by the end, I was enraptured. I kind of wished it could have gone on for longer...

Overall, very awesome poem. You have a way with words that is truly unique!

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137 Reviews

Points: 890
Reviews: 137

Sat Jan 22, 2005 10:35 am
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Wulie says...

this was a lovely poem I really enjoyed the words you used and I have nothing pertically bad to say abot it however it was a tad long and the reader begins to lose intrest by the end hwoever thats because I have short attention span lol!

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1258 Reviews

Points: 6090
Reviews: 1258

Sat Jan 22, 2005 1:03 am
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Sam wrote a review...

Sabine, could you pm this poem to me in a different font? *blushes* bad eyes...even with my glasses on I can't read it. :D I really want to read your poem!

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36 Reviews

Points: 1579
Reviews: 36

Sat Jan 22, 2005 1:02 am
Sabine says...

I guess i don't completely understand how to decide where to stick my poetry. Maybe if i had a better explanation of the criteria? PLease?

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36 Reviews

Points: 1579
Reviews: 36

Sat Jan 22, 2005 1:00 am
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Sabine says...

where do i use the word ghetto? i don't think i do. I use the word 'grotto', which is a completely different thing.

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665 Reviews

Points: 6165
Reviews: 665

Fri Jan 21, 2005 3:56 pm
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Chevy wrote a review...

Well, it was rather lengthy and I think it would have been better in the Narrative Poetry section.
Anyway, I really liked it, but there was one thing--you didn't use many commas and some of the lines just seemed to be rambling on and on and they sometimes got really hard to follow. I found myself going back several times reading lines two or three times. However, I liked the concept, and it's definitely not like anything else I've read on this site. It was a nice poem, though. You also did a beautiful job with imaging--something I'm not good at, at all.
Oh, and another thing. Thank you for not using the word "ghetto" out of it's context.

I *do* like flipping tables.
— Faye Whitaker, Questionable Content