Stringed Mandolin
The land calls my name, deep inside the bowels
Working the strips of fabric that installs
Patience builds up where wind blows beyond time
Lips tell stories but won’t work in the rhyme
Severed is the black hair off her white skin
Opened her heart, the day’s cool air within
Leaves tumble and shake away from the trees
Clouds play their music with delicate ease
Liquefy my eyes, gone through broken glass
Sifting through the polished sand I won’t pass
First score comes in, playing my eyes digress
Lowered below feelings of some sundress
By love I sit with a stringed mandolin
And life strokes a chord of dandelion
Contest: Any Subject, Any Form - New Poems
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
11/12/2013
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