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sambyfield Profile
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Impromptus


The week recedes-
each day measured
by one crisp shirt,
two trams, a coffee,
long office hours

.

The tinny ring
of rugby on the radio;
post game, a player
accidentally drops
a fuckin

.

High of 19, minimum
of 12; 26 dark chilies
hang, waiting to ripen

.

Clouds gallop across
blue sky. Washing falls
from the clothes horse,
straddles aloe vera

.
 
Woken by sex
four Sundays in a row;
new love downstairs
for Di, old enough
to be my grandmother

.

A showy sunset;
gold everywhere
like temples

.

Timezones away
oil approaches the bayou;
I think of my poet friend
May/9/2010, 6:21 am Link to this post Send Email to sambyfield   Send PM to sambyfield
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Impromptus


Well done, Sam. A work week caliberated, measured by normal events, even Sunday's sounds of sex. Second to last stanza, placement and timing, is perfect. And, yes, the horror has seeped into all time zones.

Tere
May/9/2010, 1:11 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Impromptus


Hi Sam,

The first stanza captures the working life well. I was immediately taken back to the time when I had to take two busses to get to work. This series of impromptu stanzas creates a gestalt in which the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Well done. I especially like the pentultimate stanza and the way space collapses in the final one.
May/11/2010, 4:22 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 


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