I went to the station where the rain was
pouring, turbulent, seven years old -
stripping the luminosity from its wallpaper
graffiti - and the grey smog of train engines
was frigid, monsterous, cold -
I hate you and how you cannot feel
the cold. Or smell the salt waves and light up
cigarettes and smoke like Daisy Buchanan.
Instead you fall - a black spotted leaf under October's
breath, giving in to the red whisper of our death.
Two stanzas that have captivated me ever since they were nominated.
Colm has done a brilliant and amazing piece this week. Each stanza is packed with very powerful visuals and his word usage is just beautiful.
Its very cryptic to me, which is what I love most... the first stanza allows me to visualize a boy standing alone in a very cold and wintry train station, being left behind perhaps.. as the second stanza has left me feeling.
The title says it all.. feeling like mush...
wonderful poem here!!!
Great read from start to finish, It's very distinguished how the writer started his writing by narrating in specific and descriptive words, then shifted very smoothly into a blaming direct speech. A balanced tone through out the lines and very original end as well to imagine the whisper of death stained red. The neat structure was also a beautiful feature to highlight.