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Holding shadows in my palms
they cast spare,
our woodlands thinned
their attendent branches no more
the gustful  wind exposes despair.
We should strife to be bold
hold truth like a solid friend
praying 'neath the Moon's moment
the grey shoes we walk
perhaps  too vanquished  to care

7 Mar 15

Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
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the problem with idea poems is that they don't have any body. this one is a puppet jerked by the fingers of the writer. it's the kind of thing that sounds better when written out in longhand -- so that there's a connection between your mouth and hand and inner vision, then it would if it were typed out -- where the staccato of the keyboard seems to imply that there must be a pause between words -- when, actually, if it were read out loud by the author, the poetry forms out of phrases -- seamless wording twisting into a spiral.

cast spare shadows
held my palms,
the look like branches,
thinned and floating.

the gustful wind
thins and floats
away my dream --

we should be bold,
striving -- walking
over cement blocks
paved between
the moon's bright light --

moon's moment,
and the smell of nutmeg,
corduroy shoes
we walk away.

too weakened
to feel anything
but moonlight.
 — cadmium

the best thing you can do, dear poet, is completely ignore cadmium.

he is a cunt and has not idea how to write poetry.
 — unknown

the original is far superior and needs no changes.
cadmiums suggestions are pure shit.
just like his phony 10s.

he has a "life" you know. thats why he gives the 10s.
 — unknown

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