Another from the old scrapbook, circa 2007


Arctic Cobalt (Moon)







it's an arctic midnight cobalt moon
ah I feel her move in the shivers of my bones
the telephones are wired to a chorus of stars
echoing the dust of palm trees and sunset boulevard
with a flick of her sashay hips and a twist of the mind
an umbrella shaped like a flamingo stirs a drink
in the cool depths of a movie set bar
I want to be that pink beak, just to touch her wet lips
to be as hollow as these sold out dreams
she languidly sips sometimes it all slips
out the back door like a shadow with something to hide
a voice suggests 'let's go somewhere warm'
a dark form in a suit thin and shaky, makes an aside
'yea sure mister, what's the harm' she says and winks an eye
out on the street it's one long lost lonely heart-beat
as the sun repeats it's run across so long and all too soon
it's an arctic midnight cobalt moon



Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2013-01-20 at 23:12

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Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
This text has been chosen to be featured on the front page of Poetbay. Thank you for posting it!
2013-01-22


shells
So many adjectives to make this such an enjoyable read, my favourite line has to be "the telephones are wired to a chorus of stars."
2013-01-21



Bring out the dusty tomes & floppy disks! Tattered notebooks & microchips... Share 'em, spare 'em. Let them out so they might breathe the fresh air of a new day.
2013-01-20