Monday, December 19, 2016

Her Hands Smell Like Sunsets--By Arthur Turfa--United States

Her Hands Smell Like Sunsets

The silence cannot, will not
stifle the emerging word.

Within you speak voices.
Music resounds throughout you.

When despair closes in,
a melody, a metaphor arises.

Far more remains in you than
the incessant, obscene wound.

Flowers blossom where none
ever burst forth in color before.

Every part of your being glows,
Your hands still smell like sunsets.

Let my words shine like the sun
upon the waters you touch.

Arthur Turfa is a transplanted Pennsylvanian who enjoys living in the Midlands of South Carolina. These places and others are reflected in his book, Places and Times, eLectio Publishing, 2015. His bivocationl career path has given him a wealth of experience which makes for a rich blend of poetry. Currently a moderator in three Google+ poetry communities, he is working on a second book.


  1. Dear Arthur,
    I'm drawn in by your title!
    Who wouldn't want to read on with such an enticing title? I notice wonderful "s" sounds throughout this work as well.
    So enjoyable--thank you.

    1. Michael, thanks fso much for reading and especially for the kind and insightful words.