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Literature Text
I thought about how I cut my palm
falling on sharp rock
while we searched the lost and found
of the sea, hoping for treasure.
I wondered if the ocean
would take our lives as payment
for the wares it could not recover
until high tide -
when we would be long gone,
warm inside the cottage on the bluffs,
admiring our pilfered discoveries,
safe from the sinuous fingers of waves.
While outside the foghorns bellowed
and the mist crept in
through cracks too small to see,
seeping into our seaside refuge,
to once again caress
the lost shards of its kin.
I watched the blood swirl in the water
as white sea foam rushed forward
to collect its bounty:
a willing sacrifice.
I knew that I would cherish the wound:
a memento of the windswept shore.
I cradled it lovingly, as the pain throbbed
and I resumed my search,
studying discarded skeletons
and abandoned homes, now too small.
I wondered if their inhabitants
were ever homesick, ever felt longing
for those husks they had outgrown,
for the misshapen pieces that no longer fit.
The blood from my hand
sometimes tinged them
with the strange sepia filter of nostalgia;
other times it fell into the pools
of those creatures who guarded the treasure:
some shrinking swiftly away,
some eagerly accepting the blood,
reaching out with greedy tentacles
that promised no release.
The salt of the water stung
and I was glad of it;
I would carry the water with me.
The salty air stung me too,
and I caught every sigh in my grasp.
I stare now
at my un-afflicted palm
where my memento has long since vanished:
my palm, unlike the rest of me,
desolately unmarred, not even by memory.
But I imagine, if I look quite closely,
that a scar has formed, just beneath the surface,
refusing to let me forget.
falling on sharp rock
while we searched the lost and found
of the sea, hoping for treasure.
I wondered if the ocean
would take our lives as payment
for the wares it could not recover
until high tide -
when we would be long gone,
warm inside the cottage on the bluffs,
admiring our pilfered discoveries,
safe from the sinuous fingers of waves.
While outside the foghorns bellowed
and the mist crept in
through cracks too small to see,
seeping into our seaside refuge,
to once again caress
the lost shards of its kin.
I watched the blood swirl in the water
as white sea foam rushed forward
to collect its bounty:
a willing sacrifice.
I knew that I would cherish the wound:
a memento of the windswept shore.
I cradled it lovingly, as the pain throbbed
and I resumed my search,
studying discarded skeletons
and abandoned homes, now too small.
I wondered if their inhabitants
were ever homesick, ever felt longing
for those husks they had outgrown,
for the misshapen pieces that no longer fit.
The blood from my hand
sometimes tinged them
with the strange sepia filter of nostalgia;
other times it fell into the pools
of those creatures who guarded the treasure:
some shrinking swiftly away,
some eagerly accepting the blood,
reaching out with greedy tentacles
that promised no release.
The salt of the water stung
and I was glad of it;
I would carry the water with me.
The salty air stung me too,
and I caught every sigh in my grasp.
I stare now
at my un-afflicted palm
where my memento has long since vanished:
my palm, unlike the rest of me,
desolately unmarred, not even by memory.
But I imagine, if I look quite closely,
that a scar has formed, just beneath the surface,
refusing to let me forget.
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Because I miss the North Coast more than you can imagine...
This poem is my entry for the final round of the
contest. [link] You can vote for me if you like, if you think mine is best.
Thank you all for your lovely comments - I will reply to them as soon as I can!
Submitted to the
prompt: Time Heals All.
Preview image is by my Mommie 
and can be found here:
This poem is my entry for the final round of the
contest. [link] You can vote for me if you like, if you think mine is best.Thank you all for your lovely comments - I will reply to them as soon as I can!
Submitted to the
prompt: Time Heals All. Preview image is by my Mommie and can be found here:Comments36
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Overall
Vision Originality Technique ImpactUgh. Let me start by saying: sorry this took so long.
But let's get down to business...
Generally speaking, I reallyreally like this. I love the way you've set up the imagery, I love the nostalgia of it, I love the fact that it all takes place by the sea. However, I think it could use some tweaking.
The whole poem just reeks of nostalgia (in the best possible sense), so I feel like the final line of the third stanza ("now a refuge only of memory") is a bit unnecessary.
I also think the 5th and 6th stanzas need a little addition. It took me a couple readings to figure out you were talking about shells. It seems obvious now, but I think possibly incorporating the word (even if you're not explicitly stating "THESE ARE SHELLS") somewhere into one of these two stanzas could somehow help invoke the imagery and make the connection stronger.
I find the 7th stanza just a touch confusing. I think it's probably the weakest in the poem. First of all, it feels like it runs on a little bit; I would advise breaking up the phrases a bit, like so:
"The blood from my hand
sometimes tinged them
with the strange sepia filter of nostalgia.
Other times it fell..."
I feel like just adding that one break would help the reader separate the images a bit. I'm also not sure what the "treasure" is. I think generally you need some clarification on that point. Finally, I'm not terribly fond of the "sticky tentacles" image. I can't quite put my finger on why, but the image just isn't as strong to me as others in the poem.
Generally, though, you've done a lovely job conveying the spirit and emotion of the piece, with wonderful, wonderful images. Well done, m'dear. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/s/s…" width="15" height="15" alt="
" title=" (Smile)"/>