lasts long black silhouette
grays and blues sitting
patterns above below
prickly cut hay clayey
field not much nutrient
soil is cross legged wasted
3 Oct 05
Rated 7 (8.7) by 1 users.
Active (1): 10
Inactive (2): 7, 9
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very pretty. (;
ok. i'll live with that.
I tried to say "cut hay clayey" 5 times fast but I couldn't.
hope ya didn't hyperventilate and pass out kitty!
i love the musicality of clayey.
i identify with cross legged wasted.
this poem invites the senses to touch it.
i love your poem.
thanks bettalpha, wonder what kaleidazcope would say. probably:
i was once in an english sunset but lost my grip. i fell so hard to the ground
that i jambed my leg up to the shin in the bottle of j.d. resting next to me
that i had to but heads with a local ram and goad him into smashing it
off for me. which he did. but i missed the entire night during the struggle.
oops. struggle written 'struggle' while thinking of 'tussle'.
she was going to tell you about sitting cross-legged in granchester meadows. and dragonflies as long as your forearm with wings of pink and yellow falling asleep in the maddening grass with new model army's tank singing pink floyd over the sway of her luscious rushes.
so close. yet. so much more 1990's.
Strong opening; visual, but introduces other elements that are important for the remaining lines.
L4 'clayey' sucks, no other word for it :-)
Then L5 'nutrient'? what's that for? Okay, so the field maybe barren but this doesn't create an image of any kind, to me at least, and 'not much' is weak also.
For L5 I would remove 'is' and change 'wasted', it doesn't help the flow of the line and doesn't seem to add much meaning, again, I might be missing something.
boo, am i talking about the sky, the field, or me? or all three? each word is specifically chosen for my purpose and as i don't like thoroughly flowery language 'not much' seems to be just right. mostly just because. 'nutrient' refers to the lack of. in the soil? yes. in the viewer (me) at the time? yes again.
When I read this I was overwhelmed with a certain undefinable something which almost but not quite woke me to an alternate otherness which I embrace for its non specificity. It is very like the probable alternates which could and should or would be. I am not myself.
thanks ka, as always your excellent commentary is wonderfully obtuse.
i hope you eventually come back to yourself. i'd hate to think that my wee lil poem was responsible for you turning into the semblence of a gurgling, wandering crack addict.
soil is cross legged wasted...I mean, come on - is that good or WHAT? I give an eight and lick your toes. Fine, fine, a nine!
it's simple which makes it better.