No Room for Passion

In a room too small for tantrums,
surreptitious snow storms
smother her with quiet quilts.
She is a swirl of flakes and ice,
cradling the little heat that’s left
in the whiteness of her breasts.

Kim M. Russell, 2018

Image result for painting or artwork Snow Queen
Image found on Pinterest

My response to Imaginary garden with Real Toads Fireblossom Friday: Poetic Imagery

This week Fireblossom is our host. She says that a lot of things go into the construction of a good poem: the sheer beauty of the words and the way they sound when written skilfully; the energy behind those words; the message they carry; and the form of the poem. She says they are all important but today she is concerned with poetic imagery.

She goes on to say that simply breaking up an ordinary sentence into little lines does not make it poetry and writing free verse without any poetic imagery is a little like entering the Texas Chili Cook-Off without bringing any spices, which is why she has given us examples of poetic imagery in the hands of masters, such as ‘Ballad of the Black Sorrow’ by Federico Garcia Lorca and Pablo Neruda’s description of a ship’s figurehead.

Fireblossom wants us to blow her away with our poetic imagery! It can be a new poem or we may also rework an older poem in keeping with the idea of poetic imagery. Any style, length or subject, but no ordinary or tired language.

26 thoughts on “No Room for Passion

  1. The wonderful use of imagery tells such vivid story. No room for tantrums sounds like a chilly, claustrophobic existence. Humanity gets frozen under such constraints.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This started out perfectly, “room too small for tantrums.” I took pity on her right off, ladies need their space. I’m not sure the cold, heavily told for the small poem, was literal. But what else? Just the opposite but just as uncomfrtable as e.e. cummings’ “The Enormous Room” which came to mind. Love yours, Kim.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. You are always sooo good at poetizing an image to perfection. I swear that by the time I got to the end, I was sighing (and my face probably looked like the lady in the painting). When one can’t scream, one might as well save the energy… for later.

    Liked by 1 person

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