where the writers are
Hotel Room

familiar scent of strangers

leftover fingerprints

on mirrors

reflecting lost caresses

in deep wrinkles

on mattresses

burdened with guilt

tables laden with fruit

like still-life painting

soft pillows heavy

with dried tears

crumbs hidden in carpet knots

toes scrounge for bits

of buttered toast

towels remind of other bodies

wrapping wetness

from the open window

a bird flies

with clipped wings

~FV

 

Comments
6 Comment count
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Hotel Room

I like this very much. May I offer to our poetry editor of The Hummingbird Review?

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Beyond

Thank you. You may, and that's kind of you. I just tap these words off my mind; it's wonderful that they are read and 'revived'. 

~F

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No, thank you

We love poems from abroad, awaiting okay from a Botswanan and Zimbabwean poets. Viva la Internet.

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A small world...

...we have become. And am glad to see that the emphasis of interest in 'abroad' is not based on exotica or specific ethnicity.

~F

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Farzana, I've seen something

Farzana,

I've seen something similar in your past blog, and I liked it.   I think I've seen a similar scene in your book, too, but this poem gives me a vivid metaphorical image with minimum of words.  I like this the best. I also think the unfocused, crooked view of the photo compliments the image. 

Congratulation on being published in The Hummingbird Review.

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Observing

Keiko:

I am amazed your power of observation. I am quite taken up with hotel rooms, among a few other things. They represent a world to me. Interesting that you noticed the picture, for as I was going through some on my phone, the words came to me. I wrote it on the phone itself and did not alter a word. I rarely do. The unfocused photograph does convey the transitory nature of such 'stays', does it not?

I am not published yet, but I must say that since I have never offered my poetry to any journal, and have resisted a book, this sounds like a new step, irrespective of how it goes. I do like the new as much as the old!

~F