Tuesday poem: Bulb
October 9, 2012
Bulb
Dirt-dunked like a tulip, the head erupts,
lava lines of black, darker than any ink,
lead from that buried hub, sprawling out,
seeking prey. Such dark questing feelers,
chameleon tongues probing, blind fingers
fondling scent braille of scattered crumbs.
Ants scurry back to their deep earth home.
P.S. Cottier
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PS Cottier 
A little creepy, but in a good way…
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I agree with Helen – it’s kind of creepy – but then it’s also homey. A very odd combination. (Which may be why I like it so much ;))
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Intense, dense and earthy…exactly like the bulb of which you write. This poem is so rich and compact. Lovely work!
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Also I love the groovy black ink quill backdrop to your Blog.
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Creepy, dense and earthy…Doesn’t that sound a little like the Addams Family? Thank you Helen, Alicia and Andrew. And thank you for admiring the quills, Andrew. I chose them because they look like celery.
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Interesting. I don’t find this creepy at all. Dark and damp, yes. Enjoyed the detail in here, the fondling of scent braille of scattered crumbs.
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Interesting in return, Michelle, as I was trying to be a tad creepy. But one woman’s creepy is another’s picnic, I suppose.
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