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Bethany Gamotis Poem
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
and crumpled
yellowed with age.
Though forgotten
never erased. Never
extinguished.
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
supplementing blood
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
The pencil
whispers
words,
lightly brushes her lips
against slate,
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
The screen
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
It hides
away your words,
entombs them
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
Copyright © Bethany Gamotis | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Bethany Gamotis Poem
The sky thralls me- my eyes
e'er drawn to her center
where she emits her soul
a single star.
her skirt of scalloped clouds,
rose hued,
darkens with her mood. She is royal,
royal blue. She is enshrouded
by inumerous precious stones,
sapphires and diamonds
she wears in her rolling tresses.
Sometimes she is lit
by fire.
Her skirt is
incandescent, lit by the
relentless flame.
The moon is the eye
of a certain storm.
The eye of the soul.
It is rimmed in the sun's
smouldering embers.
Tonight
the sky enticed me,
sending the sun to rest with such
a flourish,
a swish of the hip, sending
the glowing folds of her skirt
in a frenzy.
And it was all for me
to draw my eyes
to her, so that I may be tempted
to keep my eyes upon her.
The moon was stark on the dark stage,
soft and full
perfect, cratered and undulating.
I plucked her out of the sky
and replaced her with
my own golden iris.
Copyright © Bethany Gamotis | Year Posted 2012
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