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m e i n s t u r m

apex bend
the crush force
a cold temptation

the little trees are
rushed with breath
their elders breaking
in the winds
and wires moaning
anguished cries
filled with passion
loves that died

and in the sanctuary
tiny shrine
the candles brilliant
flicker flare
the happy moments
there to stare
heartbeat song
in subdued glare

arrived here from
the platform rent
the faceless forms
a travel spent
beneath the spitting
race of snow
i delve in dreams
sign me a show
a symbol for my
passioned ache
a once young heart
that foolish breaks
my head in thoughts
now hidden low
while outside grows
the twisting snows

Editing stage: 


Of all the poets here I sense that you are the most naturally born to write, there is a honesty and an originality to your writing that is both impressive and naive - with little a polishing I think your could achieve poetry that borders on the sublime. This one is no less impressive and apart from one or two spare words resonates in a part of my consciousness that is normally sacrosanct , kept for the intimate, language that is for more than a friend but for a fellow traveler encountered as you say under the "spitting race of snow", that phrase in itself has an incredibly dense beauty . There's a deathly rush to this poem , it demands a breathless enunciation , a voice propelled by need, hunger.
From all the writing have come across this is perhaps one of the best - that is not to say that there aren't hiccups but those stutters reveal to me a natural sense of honesty that reveal the source of the words as somewhere sacred. In you lies brilliance, not erudition, not schooling, just honest humanity. If you haven't published then please seek out a local collaborator and do so. This is more than post modern poetry it more than Bukowski because it surpasses him like a modern car does a child pedal toy.
The hiccups I mentioned are but a few misplaced "and", the little stanza in the middle could be tidied and edited but otherwise I think this poem is quite a piece and its appeal universal in its portrayal of modern day angst.

What a glamorous appreciation
Sir Esker..
Bravo poet of the year


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