Deepest Darkest

by Juliet Wilson

He had the blackest hair,
the darkest eyes staring
from thin paleness.

Deep she thought – New Wave
French cinema and Proust
over cappuccino
in dimly lit cafes.

She wasn’t prepared for the nightmare
traumatised sleep,
waking eyes dark-ringed.

She tried to leave
but was in too deep, dark-placed.
Finally he left her
to grief

unsolaced.

Edinburgh based Juliet Wilson blogs at Crafty Green Poet and edits Bolts of Silk.

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  1. #1 by oovj on June 18, 2011 - 9:43 am

    Wonderful tight use of language and repetition used just as it should be to highlight not structure the poem. It draws the reader in with a couple of lovely contrasts too, so necessary to deepen the darkess. Very nice writing.

  2. #2 by mark on June 18, 2011 - 4:16 pm

    The brilliant use of hints and allegations paint a vivid picture.

  3. #3 by Leanne Moden on June 19, 2011 - 5:23 pm

    The repetition of deep and dark give this poem an internal rhythm that heightens a sense of urgency and danger. That such a short poem can give such a complete sense of both the character of the man in question and the feelings of the narrator towards him is a credit to the poet.

  4. #4 by Crafty Green poet on June 21, 2011 - 7:32 am

    Thanks for your thoughtful comments, Leanne, mark and oovj!

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