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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: 

Comments

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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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

author comment

If I was you I would consider what I have lost.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet Directors

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"

author comment

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

author comment
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