Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

No more polemic, just art


Little hot knives, salt baths, and many died.
And some had voices that were nasal, flat
or squeaky. Some grew spindly thin, some fat
and some were glorious. Their special pride

was in the notes that poured out and sustained
trilled ever higher yet had strength as well
the voice of Orpheus overwhelming Hell
breaking its gates. And if the hot knives pained

cutting the boy, the man surely forgot
what he was sold to. Was the shower of coin
and praise well worth the aching in the groin,
Long cramping legs? We can't imagine what

it cost in pain, frustration, anger, tears
to bring those crystal high notes to our ears.

  • Had to be a London poem

    LONDON Night in a city that has licked its wounds Two thousand years. And curls around its kits Feeding and grooming heroes cowards wits Lovers and…

  • What it says

    ON LIGHT Sentience basks where crystals just reflect. Blind kittens stretch and mew into the sun Soft pressure on their skin. There's straight lines…

  • A poem sort of about science

    LORENZO ON LANIAKEIA A feather or a skeleton of leaf A spiderweb that blows in breeze when torn Out on the edge of nothing we are born Blue void's…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.