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Patagonian Child

Sunlight dancing on her tousled head,
a child wanders barefoot by sandy shoals;
waters that cut fierce furrows
in lone stretches of cracked riverbed.
She’ll stick her finger inside hollows,
shelter for fertile pools;
life teems in cool underbellies of stone.

Now and then she crouches to spy
behind dunes and rocks,
curious about desert crabs burrowing
in mounds of pebbles.
Her wary feet skip by sandbanks,
nature’s gifts to indigenous people,
when winka hadn’t come to scourge
llanos, nor gun the sleek nawuel.

Sculptured bones shed lucent hues
on flatlands cowered by white-hot winds,
where streamlets seldom reach the sea.
Unreal Patagonian sky, merciless and blue,
an indifferent vault over souls and things.
As she trips by snaky rivulets
lean horses falter on tablelands,
pulling at tufts, kneeling by scarce waters;
her world is full of burning blasts
of summer air; sometimes
she hears fast tuks tuks of coots;
senses the hawk lording it over skylines
to nab some creature fleeing in the brush.
Chimangos fly in lazy circles over carrion,
like airplanes waiting to land.

The child feels and breathes the power
of nothingness shaped by a mighty hand.
Comrade of solitude, she views sunlight
pulsate on steppes, where stoic languages were
spawned for nomads treading olden routes.
The child is a mite on this rock of ages,
where a cactus sprouts a flower
of beauty rare, which lasts a night.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Dear Teddy, I'm glad you like my poem and it's imagery of Patagonian steppes, brooks and so on. Patagonia really is impressive, I feel privileged to have grown up here.
Thank you for visiting and commenting, all the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

What a wonderful poem about your childhood! I feel the power of the steppes and hear the whisper of the hawk's wings in the wind. "Comrade of soliditude, she views sunlight..." My only criticsm is, that the story was through before I was ready to let go! One of your best! ~ Geez.
.

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.

Dear Geez, the poem may be about my childhood, not sure. I think I was imagining any child, but that would not leave me out. I lived on an estancia that was like the steppes, with only sheep to rear. But then I also grew up on a farm in a green valley, so it's all a mixture.
I wish I could have made my poem longer, but perhaps nobody would read it all...lol.
Thanks for your always welcome visit and comments. All the best, Gracy
PS: My foot is better, but I still have to wear the boot.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

that your foot is better, maybe be the time the rainy season is over, you will have it off. ~ Geez.
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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.

Dear Geez, thank you. I think I'll wear the boot a week more. We now have lovely Spring weather.
All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

the imagery in this poem is outstanding

Chrys

check out our chat room open to all 24/7

I won't understand it
so I've left it for '
GEE
B Happy

Hi, Gracy,
I got pleasantly lost in your words. I agree with Geezer - I wasn't ready to stop feeling so peaceful and happy. I would love to look behind the dunes and rocks a little longer. So refreshing!
Thank you!
L

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