Monday, August 13, 2012

The Grey

Filth in the grey,
the way you say
The mouth
a hollow bole
of tree
scooped and filled
with writhing mites,
Not enough to speak
of past,
the lines of it etched
in your skin
Deeds supposed long gone
remain -
in faded green and blue,
gang tattoo.
Can you clean
your filth away
by bleating,
freedom, light,
self esteem,
As your days seep away,
beneath the last strata
of dermal layers
the ink of
every day and night,
street or path,
blow and bruise,
received or given.
Like cracks in
ancient whakairo,
through to bone
and through bone,
each line remains
until those very bones

whakairo means carving


Blogger Chris Never said...

wow, even a bit of a rhyming scheme happening in this, a very interesting write for you, you mix it up, always testing out different ways and means for your voice to be heard, you are versatile to say the least.

Love it, the weight of it, the poem, the tone, has weight, body I guess, I never use correct poetic terminology but I hope you get what I mean

9:30 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

lol, I think so. Thanks. Yeah, this one is a little different in style for me. For me poems seem to arrive with their own style, tone, pace, etc already built in. If I try to change them it seldom works for me.

7:19 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home