Wednesday, June 11, 2008


Golden dimpling light, the short green spikes of Iris dead remain
Cut to please the neighbors before the freezing rain, October comes
And in this moment’s gesture, arm outstretched, remember longing, for it’s pain
I love my life if only for this momentary fire in the brain, a flash, and that’s enough

Can’t say I ever loved myself. I felt defective from the start.
Not good enough for anybody’s love, it was my shame.
I have been told, “You’re pretty.” What does it mean in any way that matters?
Why not the ecstasy of adolescent longing? Why not the waiting by the phone?
I hate the whipsaw of control and need. I’d rather die alone

A leap into the void without the faith that anything will hold
Crossing on the Michelangelo. Accompanied by a charming thief
I climbed the winding, narrowing streets of Rome. Accosted naked in a baking
Windblown room, I ran and never loved a man who loved me too
I spent my life retreating from desire. What makes me think that words will save me now?

A picture of a naked child, she sit and stirs the dirt, her smile just barely there, sublime.
The dog attends ears pricked and staring at the camera, he keeps them all away
She’ll always know the safety of this guard, the only one who never leaves
The danger of the man who disappears. I look away and find a rapture
In the glade, a patch of dirt, the dog, the memory of the man. I smile, and that’s enough

©2008 Peggy Pendleton


goatman said...

I love how most good poetry (including yours) is always "half a bubble off of level", or seems so. One must read and re-read sometimes glancing sideways, getting different results. Your thoughts clear to you but not so clear yet to those reading; else it would be prose, I guess.
I am new at poetry and seem to be too literal. (see my first, and last so far) poem on my blogpost "Bent".
Let me know watcha think.
I love your poem, by the bye.

Randal Graves said...

The images are concrete, but the underlying feeling is ephemeral, transient, as they all are. We're always grasping for something we want, we think we want, but we fear it'll never match our ideal. That's what I read here.

Svenna Winters said...

Nice imagery and internal rhyme structure. said...

thanks for sharing
mona & the girls