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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
11/28/2009 |
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Having witnessed my father deteriorate over a period of three years, your poem truly "hits home," Jon. Thank you. Love and peace to you,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by Mary Lacey |
11/28/2009 |
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So beautifully written.
Mary |
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| Reviewed by Christine Alwin |
11/28/2009 |
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...our trails of venture never cease, some are so full of sadness..this reminds me of the saying it takes a village to raise a child..I think these grown children now need to be there for the ones that were there for them...a community indeed...great write Jon
Blessings and Love,
Christine |
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| Reviewed by Gene Williamson |
11/27/2009 |
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From my experience, Jon, your fine talent accurately captures
the grim, depressive, shameless side of today's nursery homes
and, in too many cases, age, "where minutes tick away into [unforgiving] days." Great work, my friend. -gene.
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
11/26/2009 |
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Powerful write, Jon; well done!
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours! (Sick with a cold; not feeling my best. *ICK!*)
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :( *tears!* |
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| Reviewed by John Flanagan |
11/26/2009 |
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"...time an unflattering makeup artist
has absconded with ruby cheeks"...oh God, nothing could be more vivid, or creative. You paint eloquent and clear, Jon, you understand....not just understand - you know. This is grim, serious and very fine poetry.
John |
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| Reviewed by Liana Margiva |
11/26/2009 |
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| VERY NICE!!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva |
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| Reviewed by Elisabeth Barstowe |
11/26/2009 |
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| Sad and dejected. Very vividly described. |
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
11/26/2009 |
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So vividly described. I had a turkey dinner in a very fine and loving house here last Sunday. The five elderly occupants were surrounded by family for a brief celebration before slipping back into the existence you describe. That's why I favor euthanasia and a living will.
There is no character or grace in silent suffering, kept alive for the sake of living.
Ron |
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| Reviewed by Sheila Roy |
11/26/2009 |
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Jon,
A very thoughtful piece. I worked in a nursing home for some time. You recreate that somber feel for me. Great descriptions throughout this poem. Have a happy Thanksgiving:)
Sheila |
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| Reviewed by Walt Hardester |
11/26/2009 |
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Our tabla rasa is what it is in the beginning. Then, filled with life experiences it becomes what we are. As we reach an advanced age the tabla becomes muddled and unclear as to our recent past, but the middle times are so deeply ingrained they never leave. Hence, the residents of "rest" homes can recall 50 years ago with clarity, but yesterday is gone. Well done Jon.
Walt |
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| Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner |
11/26/2009 |
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Vividly penned - the older I get, the more I see this, the young foisting off their elderly to rest in these homes - 'rest'? Anything but. Powerful, Jon, these poignant lines - well done.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Happy Thanksgiving: I'm thankful for YOU. =] |
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