Friday, 28 August 2009

After Dusk by Chris Crittenden

mauve has gone down
the long rollercoaster sprint
of a firefly's throat.
we are offered a fabric
without spectrum or prism,
dark curtains
drawn on a lavish stage.

nothing left
except hints of lost embers.
glints and glows like magic tips
of an Etch a Sketch
that never paints.

we must do the work ourselves,
filling in the canvas,
guided only by a rare
meteor scar.

what we see, all our dreams,
merely a whimsy of stardust,
clouds of fleshed glitter
kicked up by the hobos in our heads.

that's night's secret,
as if we didn't know-
we wear ourselves,
feel our own secrets,
when we button on the dark.

Chris Crittenden, Maine, USA


Crafty Green Poet said...

Chris Crittenden lives near a lighthouse in a remote coastal area. There are no traffic or street lights nearby. He believes poetry explifies the depth and honesty to which humans can attain. Some recent acceptances are from Poems Niederngasse, Poetic Diversity, DMQ Review and Thick With Conviction. He thanks you for reading his poems!

poefusion said...

Terrific writing, Chris. Hope all is well.

Karen said...

This is beautiful imagery, Chris. I can see every bit of this lovely night, and I appreciate the crafting that takes us from the night outside to the one inside of us.

Anonymous said...

Karen and Michelle,

Thanks so much for your kind comments! (Karen, your poem is marvelous)

And Crafty Green--you're just spectacular!!!