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Click hereIn England, what is up is Down
--land that is, hills of chalk that
snake across the South and West in
great green cumuli come to ground,
quintillions of cretaceous creatures
compressed and billowed
in a deep blanket over
dark dinosaur bones,
ripples of the great crash of
Africa into Europe,
aftershocks of Alps and Apennines but
big to us and sacred,
enfolding first temples,
holy hills and megaliths,
dead monuments to those
who live here still
like me, driving through winter gale
with leaves aping absent birds,
driven rain leeching through dead mouths
to the distant Channel.
Had I been fortunate enough to have attended a 4 year university at 18, I would have been a geology student; that and linguistics, I love love love the plate tectonic theory, it fascinates me beyond all reason. To think that time, over billions of years, has seen the crash and retreat of plates that make up the face of our lovely Earth. well, this poem is just wonderful in so many ways.
This part here-
in a deep blanket over
dark dinosaur bones,
ripples of the great crash of
Africa into Europe,
aftershocks of Alps and Apennines but
big to us and sacred,
to me, is poetic mastery. And this-
great green cumuli come to ground,
quintillions of cretaceous creatures
when read aloud just sounds so lovely. I will favorite this one. And look forward to more of these. You are talented in so many ways you surprise me with every new submission. :)
~ maria
Great poem and I think it is really well written but it feels like it's going somewhere it never gets to. Please keep posting. I love your stuff. :)
I can see those Downs from where I sit now, a wild beautiful place and I often wonder as to what sleeps beneath my feet so loved your description
with chip. "great green cumuli come to ground" is a helluva sharp line. Could have been a poem on it's own.
The poem and your writing in general have lots of them. Might be a personal thing, but I feel you may be stacking them too high here. Every phrase an individually strong metaphor, but jumping wildly from one theme to the next, with no real coherence between them. So I end up not knowing what it's all about.
The logophile in me reads it with unabashed delight though. If that was the purpose, then kudos. :)
but the poem seems to be little more than description. Poet Guy does not get a sense of (or, better, share) the narrator's feelings of awe or beauty or whatever it is that the N feels during this drive. Perhaps this is because the descriptions are descriptions and not images of the N's feelings? Poet Guy is not sure.
A pretty good poem, but missing something in Poet Guy's mind.
i can almost taste it.
i can certainly see it, every single ripple, hummock, meander, colliding tectonic plates right down to the micro-mouths of the quintillions of cretaceous creatures.
i am unable to offer anything helpful by way of edits to improve. but i will read and re-read this as i love it just as it stands. sometimes a cigar IS just a cigar...
and as 1201 mentioned, those specific images of 'leaves aping absent birds' and 'leeching through dead mouths' are just wonderful.
we all have our Ups and Downs. This is the worst I've seen from you, I am comparing you to you, I read though, understand everything, don't have to think too much, even here:
like me, driving through winter gale
with leaves aping absent birds,
which are two lines I wished I would have wrote
Easy 100