3/6/2018 Poetry by Alison HarvilleHow Melancholy Is Going Wind pulls snow across the road in vaporous streams, like ghosts fleeing the broken dawn. I used to run away a lot, but ill equipped never made it far. The exposed sun is gaudily bright, glinting on the sharp dressed ground, and the frighteningly cold bay water squirms like a virus. As usual, I seek the anonymous shadows beneath the old trees, that space in which I can spill and spread my cracked treasures, bits of bone and nursery rhymes. What I’m not allowed to take I don’t, but the rest is polished to bruising. Slip Away Smooth new skin under a white night dress, a bright morning to follow. I had twelve dreams and that was the last. In this night theater memories scurry like mice, trip piano wires and search the floor for scraps. I lay with my scars in air left cold by rain seeping through a cracked window. I ask the night to tell me what I didn't know, and it answers on the darkening screen this is when I let you go. ![]() Bio: Alison Harville's poems have appeared in Tower Journal, The Café Review and the anthology Under the Legislator of Stars. She is a resident of the Seacoast area of New Hampshire and a member of City Hall Poets. She can be found online at @RubyAli_GMW. 3/8/2018 08:09:47 am
Ali - these are just STUNNING. They truly paint a picture in my mind, like the best songs from the best bands would. Can you start a band and turn these into songs for me? Sending LOVE!
Christian Schwartz
3/8/2018 07:06:50 pm
Stunning!! The imagery is so on point. It enveloped me into your vision!! Bravo!! Comments are closed.
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