|Birthing a Poem Beyond their Reach
Fear not; it is the dogs,
feeding on the wood pile,
to see this world
through vicious eyes -
self-incensed, they howl
at innocence and grace,
mistaking helping hands
for bitter harness.
A white witch is busy
at poetic warp and weft,
listening to the snarls die
upon her rue-strewn path.
The child she is weaving smiles,
dressed in lawn and lace;
peace - her dreams,
joy - her face.
15 May 08
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Really nice. "dressed in lawn and lace" is mesmerizing, as is the rest of the nuanced alliteration.
This is a great poem filled with wonderful metaphors. The last stanza is one if the best I've seen here.
Right on! Very nice use of language, breath control and metaphor.
but fear is necessary to survival.
actually a requirement, yes?
Of course some fears are good but to fear 'the hounds' who wish to rip your poem apart, based on nothing but their own anger or inadequacies is something to simply be shushed. They die at the door of truth and the ability of the poet to tell the tale, rue here as the herb that is a deterrent to pests and rue as the verb.
If you are a poet, you should know your work very well, you must be able to defend it completely but never fear those who only say they don't like it, without a real reason beyond their ego and ignorance.
ahh -- well crafted with meataphors for the Dogs and the wily similes for the Poet/Witch -- the flow is easy and the end strophe is sublime -- this is writ with tender wit and eyes that see reality
lovliness in words!
Some dogs just can't learn new tricks. I admit, I sometimes have difficulty fetching. Enough dog cliches, I will now roll over and play dead. Nice one Is!
this one - i really like ; and i've read quite a lot of your poems... bowing low...
Oh, don't you dare bow low to me! I'm just another writer who now and then lucks into some good phrases! Thank you, though.
for those able to read something valuable...
for evil pete's sake.
nice -- a dark sonnet made with sound and fury