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T U R N
the bled grey edge
these sepia words
resting heavy
the heart waits
and forest dark
recieves the hush
of thought
history dreams
and ghost gestures
now
the walk alone
while I wait
for the greenery
to be exhalted by
winters reception
these days of
hungry being
my own
Editing stage:
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Comments
wesley snow
Wed, 2011-11-23 21:12
Hmmm.
I fear I must confess to having this one go right over my head without disturbing a hair. It's marked as a rough draft, so I'll check in on it to see if any changes make it easier for me to get it. Sorry. I tried. wesley
W. H. Snow
A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Esker
Thu, 2011-11-24 11:51
thats okay
not all of these are meant to get
I at one time did write
different
but prefer to throw these in now
and then
maybe one day I will come and
ponder about with it
Thank You Wesley
weirdelf
Thu, 2011-11-24 22:16
I get it as a paler reflection of your earlier work
If I was you I would consider what I have lost.
cheers,
Jess
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Esker
Fri, 2011-11-25 10:58
ahh thats Sweet Weird
Yah lots of people like the way a painter or singer used
to write like paint like
Much like relationships we enter
How we recall the early promotion and propaganda
of the beginning
but some people change
I like the paler works of now
Im not knocking my "Orgami" writings
I think they were special
I still have all my other poems on Diaryland.com
where I began two years before as Orgami
there as a Username
and I can see the style there
the detailing and length of the poems etc
sure these latest Im doing are rather sparce
but thats my want and doing
I truly am sad that you greive for the earlier
works and I hope that maybe you saved them
or someone else did
(I dont see any reason to save any of this
for personal reasons viewing this as a form
of art expression like graffitti transitioning with
the times and like the crash proving that we are
just emphereal moments in this spirit realm)
Your freind "Esker"
Esker
Sun, 2011-12-04 17:21
breif days I sailed
Yes a small vessel a true sailing craft
sixteen footer??
all I remember was the "turn"
where one brings the vessel about
and cuts back
"tack"?? so long ago I cant remember
Life is like this
that snap when the canvasse comes alive
when you feel the vessel hitch with speed
just the wind and the sound of her cutting
through the waves Leaning with
exertion There was nothing like it!!!
sometimes life is like that
we get our "slap" of wind of life
ruslting in our canvasse