http://www.napowrimo.net/ "And now for our prompt (optional as always). Taking our cue from today’s craft resource, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem that includes images that engage all five senses. Try to be as concrete and exact as possible with the “feel” of what the poem invites the reader to see, smell, touch, taste and hear."
The clinking of the bottle on the rim
mutating as the glass begins to fill
becomes forgetfulness's joyful hymn,
the splash and gurgle whisper of Lethe's bill.
The ruby liquid glistens in the bowl
and ripples bring false imagery of blood
that flash red echoes deep into my soul
yet somehow it looks thinner than it should.
And as it steals the warmth from my cupped hands
the chill it leaves behind reaches my heart
and tightens round my chest in iron bands,
red banners wave as recollections start.
The scent is wrong, this fruity bouquet holds
no hint of that metallic iron taint,
the vision that my inner eye beholds
makes me recall that smell, however faint.
The touch of glass upon my lips, the taste
rolls round my mouth now, keeping thoughts at bay,
it’s rich yet acid, swallowed without haste
it thaws the bitter recall of that day.
I wash the blood clean from my mind with this
false mimic of that sanguine memory
and yet the fullness if this plummy kiss
still stains my mouth, the peace illusory.
Tomorrow I will still awaken and
that gory scene will still lurk in my breast;
no alcoholic stupor breaks the strand,
oblivion’s a temporary rest.
mutating as the glass begins to fill
becomes forgetfulness's joyful hymn,
the splash and gurgle whisper of Lethe's bill.
The ruby liquid glistens in the bowl
and ripples bring false imagery of blood
that flash red echoes deep into my soul
yet somehow it looks thinner than it should.
And as it steals the warmth from my cupped hands
the chill it leaves behind reaches my heart
and tightens round my chest in iron bands,
red banners wave as recollections start.
The scent is wrong, this fruity bouquet holds
no hint of that metallic iron taint,
the vision that my inner eye beholds
makes me recall that smell, however faint.
The touch of glass upon my lips, the taste
rolls round my mouth now, keeping thoughts at bay,
it’s rich yet acid, swallowed without haste
it thaws the bitter recall of that day.
I wash the blood clean from my mind with this
false mimic of that sanguine memory
and yet the fullness if this plummy kiss
still stains my mouth, the peace illusory.
Tomorrow I will still awaken and
that gory scene will still lurk in my breast;
no alcoholic stupor breaks the strand,
oblivion’s a temporary rest.
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