Last Poem
At some point
in the locus of points
it will be true. When
the heart stops
caring enough to squeeze
pallid blood through
or the voice that wants
to be inscribed
forgets the sounds
the vowels make
or the shapes
of the consonants.
Some one
must be the last.
Why not this one?
in the locus of points
it will be true. When
the heart stops
caring enough to squeeze
pallid blood through
or the voice that wants
to be inscribed
forgets the sounds
the vowels make
or the shapes
of the consonants.
Some one
must be the last.
Why not this one?
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50 words
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Author's Note
A book of true last poems - with the "back story"- would be interesting.
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Fading of the life force. {{shudder}} *
I enjoyed this one. Well done.
No. This won't be the last, and that's a very good thing, dear Gary.
Interesting concept.*
One day at a time. *
This makes me think about the very human habit of encapsulating things into beginnings and ends, firsts and lasts. Next, please...
Living la vida loci... poetically.
Not yet, not yet...*
Not this one. *
*, Gary. So well written.
"Some one
must be the last.
Why not this one?"
Well, just because...
Nice…
When
the heart stops
caring enough to squeeze
pallid blood through
I am gratified by the responses. Thank you all very much.
Nice one, Gary. *
Thank you, Christian.
Writing, then reading. Then you know it won't be long, according to Frank Conroy. Tom Grimes tells about it hauntingly in Mentor. *
Thank you, Barry.
Very thoughtful. Enjoyed! *
Thank you, Charlotte.
thank you for this one
Thank you, Loyola.