THE LAST FEW DAYS
THE LAST FEW DAYS
Steve Klepetar
Six times in the last few days and now
with curses and prayers I’m out of it,
gone, you might say, spewed out into
the night. Who would bless this regal
blood? If I could lie there one more
time, if I could stop this blistering cold…
I have a tongue tuned to frost of night
and a wandering eye and all your
messages dipped with seeds and fused
with fiery wine. I spin in darkness, bob
and weave my shadow dance. Who can
hear taxis, those golden fish, hurtling
against waves of sound? My hands
are full of blue snow against street light
midnight jewels. If only your hair
brushed against my lips and my soaring
were done. Who can bear these bright
fish plowing through tideland and marsh,
and who hasn’t been broken or can find
a watery name exiled on these granular banks?
©2012 This work is the property of the author.
Posted on December 7, 2012, in POETRY, Steve Klepetar and tagged Poems, poetry, THE LAST FEW DAYS. Bookmark the permalink. 5 Comments.
Misfits' Miscellany 
The last of Steve’s current submissions. I love his use of imagery. And I thought this poem would be an interesting companion to today’s earlier poem SNOWDROP, by D.F. Paul.
Read SNOWDROP here:
Read Steve’s other work by clicking the link and following “Older Posts”:
https://misfitsmiscellany.wordpress.com/category/steve-klepetar/
Steve Klepetar’s “The Last Few Days” of a once virgin earth reminds me of a wintry scene from Tolstoy or a Hungarian storm that makes us imagine we are loved and human in war or peace.
Although my favorite poem of Steve is reflected in beautiful and bountiful imagery of ‘”Still Life
with Smoke” this poem has a compassionate abandonment of lies,a search “in a tongue turned
to frost of night”. There is an exciting narrative in his poetry of mature imagination.
What graphic, scissor- like images! I can feel the textured snow falls of upstate NY.
Very rich, this poem is a favorite.
I like poems that ask questions. The imagery paints pictures in my head and I also see photo negatives. This poem contains that magic ingredient of good writing–texture.