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The Iron Landlady

Between the slats of slab huts
Corrugations of tin through time
Roughly formed chimneys
And the sun in decline

I spy her, though not as planted voyeur
But, quite by accident
In the confines of tangle iron sheds
Looking for all things that define

The sharpness, her edge, just
The right tool for the job
In some dwindling corner
Before it turns to rust

Thus her labours can patch up
Once more with twine, a crack or a gape
In the ageless shadows that define
This house, she will never leave

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Just an observation of my tireless heroic landlady trying to assemble some order out of the chaos, that the accumulation of a lifetimes collecting of cast of junk brings.
Editing stage: 


Are we not always searching for the power in us towards the power of language,
a dance between being plain spoken and eloquent with that special flip in the end evocative of a linguistic orgasm, "a house she will never leave" , at once good but for me at least strangely to familiar
But that may be just me. What remains is the question, how you felt when you finished this piece.
Did it zing like light. or slope down steeply almost as if some great dirge, or something like an unexpected shift in mood that surprises

You write beautifully and I acknowledge the subjectivity of my comments,

My landlady lives in an old farmhouse, is a bit if a hoarder, and tends to fill up sheds with endless chairs, antique tools ad other oddities (also works at a recycling shop). Apparently, everything has a use, and she plans to stay here and use all these relics forever! From my little hut vantage point, this was an observation made toward dusk. Sometimes, I do like to add in a shift in mood and position for the reader, but I write quite literally, as an observer.
I'll have to give your fascinating comments some further consideration..

Many thanks.


Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

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