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In an unsettled wind
from fires that burn deep within,
the smoke from beyond
the fence
drifts over ill-tended grave.
Snowflakes hang
in the breeze,
as ash though bone
trees,
alight, melt on my face.
How I wish you were here
with me right now.
How I wish
you were here
with me.
Right now
a wreath of unsett'ling wind.
This is good though I'm not sure why. My response is visceral rather than intellectual. I ' feel' it rather than understand.
Would never have picked you as the writer ! Interesting variety of responses which is definitely a plus.
This is good though I'm not sure why. My response is visceral rather than intellectual. I ' feel' it rather than understand.
Would never have picked you as the writer ! Interesting variety of responses which is definitely a plus.
I'm not sure quite what I make of it. I must say that the opening "In an unsettled wind / from fires that burn deep within" makes me think of someone who ate too much chili for lunch and is having intestinal problems. I would have thought you'd find "fires that burn deep within" cliché, but maybe that's your intent. Perhaps I need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.
I didn't get this line, 'as ash though bone trees,'not that it matters.
Though I find this poem difficult to criticize, I think I prefer you as the itinerant cynic than a conscious poet, your work is so more exciting and unpredictable and fresh in that guise.
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