Her voice is pure;
she sings as angels would sing,
and yet she paints herself for sex.
Such sentiments come pouring from her mouth,
and yet she is a child in a woman’s body,
conforming to conditioning since birth.
In tone,
she is shimmering in a halo of light,
and yet in body she gives herself away,
grinning from a face smeared with makeup.
But then,
her voice fills me with thoughts of poetry,
and lifts me to the stars.
So I care not how she looks, or is.
I care not how her juxtaposition came to be;
that is her own affair.
And who am I to judge,
when she lifts me to the stars?
When she lifts me to the stars…
Reviews
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It’s been a while since I read and commented on any of your poems. I read your recent poems, but enjoyed this one the most. I suppose it’s the juxtaposition that got me. I enjoyed how each stanza shows tension in the person of the “she.” The tension however isn’t present in the actual word choice. The stanza starts soft and offers a sour bite at a certain point, but the bite doesn’t linger. It fades. The third to the last stanza almost has a nonchalant tone to it. A strange anticlimax, as the stanzas before it almost captures in detail the two different ‘personalities.’ This particular stanza makes you wonder:
1. Is the speaker truly indifferent about this? Or
2. Is the speaker trying to convince oneself to be indifferent?
Then the following stanza tells you that these tiny observations do not matter when “she lifts you (me) to the stars. Everything is nullified and insignificant compared to that sheer ‘high’ one takes from her.
-iphios
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Well thanks, Phige. I'm glad you took the time to comment. I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things; it's been so long since I really felt in the mood for writing poetry. I think you got the jist of what I was trying to say.
Sam
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iphios
October 6