Momentary Monet: A Poetry Collection

By Montego Sinclair

Brevity is true beauty. As such, the life of the rose is outlived by the concrete and callous nature of prose. The Rembrandt remembrance of the fragrance of spring is but a homage to the fling. The birds will sing and man will write. But at the end of night, only one song breaks the day. That is all I have to say.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Montego Sinclair
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087923642

Book preview

1

Love Is Just A Word

Tangled in intangible

of terror trapped in tryst

this personal interest is missed

on those who don't insist

Instead of steadfast steeds

stampeding through our stable

unstable minds unfold

and furnish what is fable

Don't label this intrinsic thought

on love that’s lost

or love me not

for love is just a word

where all other words are caught

2

Pluck Me

The violent death of violet depth

led some to become humdrum chrysanthemum

and others still to the ill will of daffodil

And no one remembered

how to curl toes

or how to break ice

when winter winds froze

that is…until Rose

through rose arose prose

and poetry that overflows

and the violet was gracious

to the rose so vivacious

this union was pure

yet oddly audacious

and whenever the violet

would be filled with doubt

the rose would say

"pluck me

pluck my brains out"

3

Cupid’Sparrow

Spare me the arrow and sparrow

and the narrow notion

that love is an ocean

For I have swam in who I am

And I have drowned in the sound

of thoughts profound

and it does not make me

a well-rounded individual

Square pegs

and round holes

burning souls

to walk on coals

but the ember won’t remember

sun descending in December

or the cold nights

that I sat alone

4

Walled in, Ponder

We all live

within these four walls of life

and very rarely

are these walls broken

but once you have spoken

with the ceiling of your solitude

there is no healing

for there is nothing more revealing

once you have seen every corner

and found every web

and every creak beneath your feet is known

once the sands of time return to stone

you are truly alone

and you will ponder

if you were ever not alone

and whether the walls

were always there

for a moment

you will be thorough in your despair

and you will speak to the world

that pretends to care

before you mate with the stale betrayal

of air you cannot breathe

5

Momentary Monet

Sometimes

I will sit in my car

and watch the trees outside

become momentary