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covet silk winds
across quiet brocade shadows
a brutal fist of
hail beneath the anvils
of summer
lay down the pleasant
sash of wealth

a wrath of war
for harvest lush
ambrosial slaughter
rising in the mists

Editing stage: 


I detect the odor of the forest after a storm. The smell of the slow burning of mold beneath the pine needles and the waft of a warm scent that accompanies a beautiful dawn.~ Gee

There is value to commenting and critique, tell us how you feel about our work.
This must be the place, 'cause there ain't no place like this place anywhere near this place.

I imagined lavender fields
something Ive never seen much
of... Strange that I like its scent

after the ice has broken it down
the summer anvil heads

I like that all the poetry described as
so brief brings forth so much to everyone

I like the pines very much
the darkness in the thick of them
foreboding mysterious and peaceful

and that hot dawn breath
befoere the sun strikes
weary and taxing

Thank You

author comment

There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
And in my mind. I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there.
Neil Young

your definitely in the right place to write poetry
always good to read your work

correct...a most un nerving and place of taut politeness
and mystery....

thank you

author comment
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