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Friday, May 19, 2006

cue 2

a hegemony of bulrushes this way no
stiff rout but some slight triumphant
bending against a wind more hushed
than meaning to

likewise yesterday's love, all external
with the faintest bendings conglomerated
but beautiful as if that word silk wrapped and
dreamed down into sum

today has come like the creeping now river
tide, half imperceptible according too
the higher sensate order yet

inevitable as all eventuals must
as all dreams become

background and the incessant must, a
damp emptiness where neck arch indents
made any hitherto privacy
rheumy and needy and vocalized; thus

do birds rise who do

presses that cannot be stored; the fact
that only drips are left and at best dried-away, bodies
on the living-room corner-screen
a multi-humps gestalt

pain always left out no matter
what the sky appears
as if of Nazareth
a good code to
swear by

Comments:
i love coming here to read

pj
 
Hey, AnnMarie,

Happy Birthday! (Gobos)

Rus
 
billy did you a favor once, now it's your turn to do him one in return. support the campaign for Billy the Blogging Poet as Mayor of Poets101.com!
 
annmarie / where are you


love this poem btw
your words all ways
im pact me /



hope you are well


~jx
 
Dear Ann Marie,

Since I first read and published your verse, your lyrical talent was evident. Now you have a smooth rhythm that emphasizes the substance on cue. So good to discover you out in the blogosphere, I shut down the magazine, yada. Finally I started a blog.

Good to see you posting your poetry. You have a fine ear. I liked the first stanza best, really smart.

Thine in Truth and Art,

C. E. Chaffin


p.s. An editor's jaded eye also wants to say watch the worn-out words like "hushed" and "dreams" unless you think you REALLY know what you're doing (a thing I don't even aspire to).
 
Wow! ive read quite a few of your poems on this visit. it wasn't til I heard your reading that the full sense of them coalesced. They are great!
Will be returning regularly. Thanks
Glenn.
 
This peom for me wasw as if it wree a muted trumpet... It come to the ear in pieces, your intent I believe, and it left one feeling as if something were missing. Not the words or structure or imagery, but that- imagery of something missing. Like the trumpet blasting away yet stuffed with so much longing and angst that it muffled its blast to perfection.
 
This was a very nice poem. I like what I've read so far. I'll be back in the future.
 
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