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Click hereCarried everywhere I go-
Baby blue with silver stars
that catch the light and sparkle-
almost thirty, and I still love glitter.
Inside,
once crisp pages are now
soft from many turnings by
oily fingertips.
Smudged words and
partial prints, from writing
faster than ink could dry.
But also bright blobs
in rainbow colors-mostly blue,
hesitation marks when the words
came like a leaky faucet -drip drip drip.
Held to your ear you
wouldn't hear the ocean but
crack it open and listen closely -
you'll hear the beat of my heart.
Bit of creativity, writing a poem about your poetry journal. Tend to go with 1201's thought about the ending; not bad, but seems almost predictable.
I loved your description of your love to writing, not just the ideas and the feelings but the process itself - has sensual qualities which you have depicted so well. I agree with previous commenters who felt that the last stanza felt misplaced. It felft more like an abstraction, almost a cliche I am afraid, compared with the wonderful concrete qualities of your previous engagements with your journal. Still, a very emotional and touching poem.
I feel the last two lines could be better, maudlin, plays badly against the drip, drip, drip.
I do too. "hesitation marks when the words
came like a leaky faucet" << what a great image. I can see the words plopping into the fibres of the paper. This poem is mentioned in the New Poems Review thread on the Poetry Feedback and Discussion Forum of the Literotica Bulletin Boards. Thanks for sharing.