stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 14340
    [post_author] => 4
    [post_date] => 2012-02-29 19:26:03
    [post_date_gmt] => 2012-02-29 19:26:03
    [post_content] => Lights go on;
or shall I say not any lights
but candles, or shall I say
not any candles, but those eyes;
so as to say that when I’ve turned my
cheek away, would you turn yours in
supple vow? Torrential as the
markings that our windowsill
has livered, livened by the blanks
the meeting of our eyes have littered;
as to think that I once kissed those lips,
undressed your chin, or squelched
abloom the florid vegetation of
your name that I once knew so well:
they say there’s no such things as poets anymore
but there you are. and here I am.
and there you are. and here I am.
they say there’s no such things as poets anymore.
your name that I once knew so well:
abloom the florid vegetation of.
undressed your chin or, squelched
to think that I once kissed those lips.
the meeting which our eyes have littered;
livered, livened by the blanks
markings that our windowsill in
supple vow; torrential as the
cheek, away would you turn yours in
so as to say that when I’ve turned my.
not any candles, but those eyes;
but candles, or shall I say
or shall I say not any lights
Lights, go on. 
    [post_title] => Illumination
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => illumination
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2015-11-26 13:09:32
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2015-11-26 13:09:32
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=14340
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2012
            [wpcf-summary-description] => Ross Sutherland says: A really good attempt at a palindrome (AKA mirror) poem, which strikes me at a really well-chosen form, considering the subject matter. It returns us to this idea that the portrait is the reflection once removed. The first mirror poem I read was the wonderful ‘Doppelganger’ by James A. Linton (Google it), and since then I’ve been a bit hooked. There’s a lot of rich language in “Illumination”, which makes the form even trickier to pull off. The use of enjambment creates some unusual rhythms in the latter half of the poem, but this too feels in keeping with the subject matter: the reflection is more abstract than the original, it tries to keep its shape, but the image becomes obscured by its own designs. The opening is great, and therefore by design, so is the closer.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Winner, Imagined Lives Challenge 2012
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 13612
            [forename] => David
            [surname] => Romero
            [title] => David Romero
            [slug] => david-romero
            [content] => David Romero is a winner of the Young Poets Network 'Imagined lives' poetry challenge.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 13612
    [forename] => David
    [surname] => Romero
    [title] => David Romero
    [slug] => david-romero
    [content] => David Romero is a winner of the Young Poets Network 'Imagined lives' poetry challenge.
)

Illumination

David Romero

Lights go on;
or shall I say not any lights
but candles, or shall I say
not any candles, but those eyes;
so as to say that when I’ve turned my
cheek away, would you turn yours in
supple vow? Torrential as the
markings that our windowsill
has livered, livened by the blanks
the meeting of our eyes have littered;
as to think that I once kissed those lips,
undressed your chin, or squelched
abloom the florid vegetation of
your name that I once knew so well:
they say there’s no such things as poets anymore
but there you are. and here I am.
and there you are. and here I am.
they say there’s no such things as poets anymore.
your name that I once knew so well:
abloom the florid vegetation of.
undressed your chin or, squelched
to think that I once kissed those lips.
the meeting which our eyes have littered;
livered, livened by the blanks
markings that our windowsill in
supple vow; torrential as the
cheek, away would you turn yours in
so as to say that when I’ve turned my.
not any candles, but those eyes;
but candles, or shall I say
or shall I say not any lights
Lights, go on.