The First Word

on new year’s furrowed brow,
the first word,
a secret anointing,
that remembers,
that clotted ink on the silver nib
is smile residue,
but tangled lines,
like medusa’s curls
turn poetry to stone,
drip venom into its metered abscesses…
already blue veined wings flutter.

Quadrille: a 44 word poem
Linked to the Dverse Poets (Prompt: Curl)

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48 thoughts on “The First Word

    1. I wasn’t thinking of writer’s block when I wrote it, so its very interesting that it has come across that way! And yes, can very well relate to mind freeze though…hope the new year is kind! Thanks so much Walter!

      Liked by 1 person

  1. “but tangled lines,
    like medusa’s curls
    turn poetry to stone,
    drip venom into its metered abscesses”

    Damn I felt that so hard. Especially after reading the clotted ink smile. So good.

    Like

  2. Oh my…..at first I am smiling thinking this is the type of poem that will add hope to the new year….and then I read words like “clotted” and “drip venom into its metered abscesses…” and blue veins and my happiness is subdued. Amazing contrast and juxtapositioning here..

    Like

  3. I loved this part:”but tangled lines,
    like medusa’s curls
    turn poetry to stone,”, it makes me think of misunderstandings, and how we often listen to reply, not to understand.

    Like

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