The Writers Block

Secret Hypotenuse (revision)

I know you think of me,
my painted toe nails,
gold anklet bracelet,
the heavy kissing.

He was the starfish
who swam towards me
for his sweet fetish.

He worshipped me,
blew verses in my ear
to ease ennui,
arouse the senses.

Our words migrated
in winter oceans;
calm and dry, inside
ice boxes, they float
to nowhere.

Geraniums watch from
another continent;
they barely sway
in summer planters.

Their petals squeeze
around the waist,
the way he pressed
into my center.

We wear the dim scent
of candles drifting.



Jingling Hypotenuse (original)

I know you think of me,
my painted toe nails,
gold anklet bracelet,
the heavy kissing.

She is the star fish
who swims away
from her sweet fetish.

He worshipped me,
blew verses in my ear
to ease ennui,
woo and seduce me.

Now words migrate
towards a winter ocean,
calm dry ice inside a box
to nowhere, derelict.

Geraniums watch from
another continent;
they barely sway
in summer planters.

I wear their petals
squeezed in the center
as once those arms
around my waist.

pen

Pen---


as moving as it is intimate and lacerating.

Jingling Hypotenuse

I know you think of me,
my painted toe nails,
gold anklet bracelet,
the heavy kissing.


i like the solid, declarative opening lines.


would prefer to not swim, not from a sweet fetish.

and not crazy about star fish used in this way.

the oyster breath of your fetish...

or--


your eyes so luminous
recalling the sweet
fetish of my shoe.


or---


starfish, crab, jeweled oyster maker,
legs akimbo in sweet fetish.


She is the star fish
who swims away
from her sweet fetish.



He worshipped me,
blew verses in my ear
to ease ennui,
woo and seduce me.


woo and seduce, a bit victorian, nes pas?



he moved to the center
of my earth, black smoke
from the fireplace
like the cardinals electing
a new pope. my red shoes
while he watched me dress.



steam heat now, huh?



transition more smoothly---

the sun thins out,
the fallow streets
and street cars
puff into winter,
my words become dry ice
in a fast food box.


Now words migrate
towards a winter ocean,
calm dry ice inside a box
to nowhere, derelict.




Geraniums watch from
another continent;
they barely sway
in summer planters.


these lines are swell.



good close, but might rethink the exact phrasing, even if just for practice.

I wear their petals
squeezed in the center
as once those arms
around my waist.


very interesting poem. held my attention and provoked my mind.




mojave

Mojave,

I think you have a better poem emerging from your comments; the colorful fire, cardinals, pope/vatican mentions, the mythical red shoes.

I wish I found mine as interesting as I find your suggestions. Mine sounds cliche; the theme is difficult to pull off without that happening, or maybe it is just that villain ennui getting in the way. It was that word which started it in the first place.

I revised, but it is far from an overhaul. I did follow through several points you made. Thank you.

pen