Poetry Forum

Thank you for reading. I was afraid to post this one.

As for Frost I'm a fan of his serious stuff (what I consider serious): Witches of Coos, After Apple Picking, Death of a Hired Man, Mending Wall, and so on.

Thank you so much for reading,
Heph

Dedalus, Wonderful poem. The dialect, tics, expressions give flesh to the old man. The rhymes and rhythms color that flesh with lilting, quirky – and at times petulant tones. Like following a road that covers many terrains, the rhythm and pacing adjust to the rocks, curves, and steep climbs. The rhy...

Light the first light of evening In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the ultimate good. ... --Wallace Stevens I think I’d like to be the victim of a violent crime. Not the kind where someone tears off your skin layer by layer. I want a fellow to rip off my head quick...

between grassblades. The sun pends. Horizon. Flame on purpling puddle. The eye reflects. Just before the snow. Ember death. Chicory breath. We pant. And run. Temperature drops. Into dark. Flashlights. Riffle between trees. Run, little boy. My legs sore. Run. Through shouts. Hoots. Howls. Mouths rise...

I straddle a beltway & squeeze till she blues under yellow light & rises pregnant with my thoughts dented where my fists lay shakes her necklace of soda cans & bird wings oil perfume lifts its hair tickling the ozone I pillow a city hungry for rain bed it deep in a valley spread the incu...

I like this poem. Open-ended, yet verbally strong. Does that make sense?

Silly nits:

kozmikdave wrote: ()=add
//=comment

The universe’(s) // I think you want the possessive; don't you need the s?
// the line break is good, but on some reads I bring "yin-yang to L1
yin-yang

Thanks for the read,
Heph

David,

How you incarnate emotions! Such vivid images of worry. Rattles my boots a bit.

No real nits.

Thanks for the read,
Heph

The gnats dream themselves locusts, find Egypt on your shoulder. The pan sizzles falling rain, gasps onion. Her chapped hand reaches from sepia, touches your fingers. Her breath schleps the potato and oil; your thoughts harden into an iron pan. The table rises from the floor, seats itself. The post ...