Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, June 13, 2011

The Shell Collector

photo courtesy of Magpie Tales
Empty of meat
Back on the street
But, oh, it was sweet
That little morsel of you

You noticed my greed
Mistook it for need
Allowed me to feed
On your fragrant, ripe fruit

Now I've had my fill
And you're feeling ill
The creeping, bleak chill
Of dissection

Your will has grown weak
And your voice has grown meek
But I'm not one to seek
For protection

I swallowed your heart
Was your gift and my art
It's all just a part 
I play very well

Your spirit is dust
It might be unjust
You're only a husk
But, oh, what a beautiful shell.

submitted for Magpie Tales, 69


moondustwriter said...

Excellent poem to go with the prompt
I guess some people can be shell dwellers too

120 Socks said...

Brilliant, brilliant, and in case I didn't say it, brilliant!

Mama Zen said...

This is awesome! Like a sinister nursery rhyme.

Jingle said...

perfect rhyming and playful spirits.
love your poetry.
keep it up.

Kristen Haskell said...

That is an interesting and kind of scary poem. Nice twist of things

Reflections said...

Love this and the rhythm carries one through. Nicely penned.

Fireblossom said...

Oh man, I've met the speaker of this poem.

Tess Kincaid said...

Oh, ouch. What a great sadistic write.

Bryan M. White said...

Another clever use of metaphor.

Ginny said...

"The creeping bleak chill
Of dissection"
Great lines in this piece. Loved it!

Anonymous said...

Fantastic rhymes I love your darker take on the prompt I think we've all met someone like the narrator in your poem

darev2005 said...

I've left a few of those shells behind here and there. It's always a painful process shedding them.

cosmos cami said...

I love that last stanza.

Lena said...

That was a great spin on the prompt. I enjoyed the 'bounce' to it as I read. Bravo!

HyperCRYPTICal said...


Anna :o]