Started by JonSRB77, March 08, 2022, 10:12:35 PM
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Quote from: BasilValentine on March 28, 2023, 11:10:22 AMI'm not a poet but I once embarked on a set of poems in alphabetical order based on impressions from back country hikes in the Adirondack Mountains of New York. Maybe I'll finish one day(?) Probably not. AshOn the nether cuspPowdered smokePlighted to the windBoneCapillary scrimshaw Etched in mossWorms cored its marrowWind smoothed its scarsIt cools my palm With a last caressIt's laid to restOn a bed of needlesBy a hunters' pathBeneath the scattered starsCragDislocated fractureWeathered, pocked with ageCollage of autumn far belowCrosshatched by birch and their shadowsA quick silver brook tears the page
Quote from: Sergeant Rock on April 01, 2023, 05:13:09 AMA few words of explanation: a group of very young children caught us making out. We didn't even notice them at firstJEAN TWELVEAnd there I dream'd —John Keats, La Belle Dame sans MerciIt was exactly three, after the cacophonyof the band practice had finally fadedinto the afternoon's hot summer silence,when we met in the mead behind my house and she was beautiful and magical, a faery's childin blue short-shorts and tight knit top;she seemed closer to naked than clothedbut not close enough:I had to imagine parts of her body,think the things I wanted to seeand aroused then, watched her reach a highon one of Hazel's elementary swings.We spoke tentatively, constrained by mysteries,constrained by desire, and when I took her handas we entered the enchanted woods,we became as silent as that August afternoon,whose silence was like the fourth day of creationbefore God's golden hand fashioned the animals:the silence of rock and soil, of grass,mold and mushroom, moss and ivy;the silence of trees and bushes tallwho with their green and liberal leavesconspired well to hide our love.The world of other humans vanished.Like children of the first garden,innocent under the knowledge tree,we touched in utter simplicity:the beginning of my long dream.But what we call the beginning is often the endand the leaves were suddenly full of laughter,excited, amused--bemused--by the adult invasionof a children's faery land.Shocked and surrounded, we stared them downand lost our innocence when they scampered away.I shut my eyes and held her tighter,afraid of beauty I could barely endure.In a language strange of moans and kissesI thought I heard I love thee true;she looked at me so dark and wild,no longer a faery's child.And in that elfin grove she weptand held me fiercely to her bodyand no birds sang the dream that wasboth beginning, and an end.
Quote from: foxandpeng on April 01, 2023, 05:49:40 AMI really like your poetic voice, Sarge. I think you have something. Do you ever workshop your poems? There is a maturing voice in there...
Quote from: Sergeant Rock on April 01, 2023, 07:06:53 AMThank you. I really appreciate your kind words. No, I've never workshop'd my poems.Sarge
Quote from: foxandpeng on April 01, 2023, 07:18:15 AMSome of your writing puts me in mind of Ian Hamilton in works like The Garden or Returning. There is a matter-of-factness and immediacy that I see in his work that I see in yours. It isn't bare or dispassionate, but there is a realism and understatedness that is really interesting, while in no way detracting from the tenderness that you describe.
Quote from: Sergeant Rock on April 02, 2023, 05:43:02 AMI"m not familiar with his poetry. I've ordered a copy of Selections.Sarge
Quote from: foxandpeng on April 02, 2023, 11:56:58 AMI hope you enjoy 😀
Quote from: Sergeant Rock on April 06, 2023, 09:08:11 AMThe book arrived this afternoon. I've read about a third of the poems plus the story Money. Unfortunately The Garden and Returning aren't included. But other than that disappointment I am enjoying Hamilton's work.Sarge
Quote from: foxandpeng on April 06, 2023, 09:13:23 AMAlthough your inbox is full, atm... 😁
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