by yui
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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Poetry is the last refuge of writers who can't write logically and concisely. This writer personifies that, and compounds the error with a limp-wristed poem about ground fog. Whoop de doo! A pragmatic (legitimate) writer would have condensed this whole thing to one short sentence: "Turn on yer fog lamps, Pa." LOL
Ron123XYZ@foreveranonymous.naturally
What a hauntingly beautiful rendering. Something especially lovely about this one.
I see Maria's point and rather agree with her. I think it possibly could be tighter in expression. But good, and very evocative, in any case.
it's good, but not great,and i think it has the potential to be a great poem. There are a few too many extra words ( like this comment),
that if pared, it would make the poem clearer and not tangle the reader in a mess of adverbs and adjectives.
This being said, I did enjoy the poem.
I'll never again be able to look at a warm pavement after a rain that raises these apparitions in quite the same way.
to see your poetry back again. A well developed metaphor of memory. I enjoyed watching this unfold, mentioned in today's new poem reviews