poetry critical

online poetry workshop


in the coffee spoon I swirl,
and I swirl: sure is sugary,
sure is. T . S . Eliot -- who
did you
crawling the ether and sawdust
wrestling Alfred Prufrock on the grey
catwalks of sky still holding the rusted light at dusk?
Somehow -- I am tired, and old.
The moments
The world
And I swirl: sure is sugary,
Sure is.
Somehow, I am tired
Somehow, I am tired and old – or at least,
Enough of my past is dead or buried;
But it’s the burnt bridges one truly misses
Somehow, I am tired and old –  or at least,
Enough of my past
There’s a summer inside the coffee spoon,
And an another—this nostalgia for
I started writing a poem
about Prufrock, or at least – T. S. Eliot, I even
Described the bronze sun
On dark clouds
in dark skies,
Like catwalks
holding the last of the rusty light
At dusk: for some reason there is an image
made eleven years ago,
in the first stanza

15 Jan 18

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Taking measuring of life in coffee spoons literally....
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