by Debashish Haar
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Not rated by the Author.
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Each day the carousel carries
envelopes of verses, written
in invisible ink, with no claimant.
Plaths, Sextons, Lowells and Ginsbergs,
the cummings of internet age
come with vivid faces
from every corner.
Beautiful pages cosmic dance
patterns and shapes,
in a different world
many pretend to travel.
I see them peeling their cactus faces
with sandpaper; some add lipstick,
eyeliners and cross-dress.
There’re some who wear wigs
of hematite hair,
wings of stealth fighter,
propellant tanks of ICBMs.
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|Reviewed by Marie Wadsworth
|Indeed we are on a ride and oft it seems as the simple things pass us by. It also seems that we are on a ride where all is a blur and nothing, not even our very selves, matter. That's what this poem says to me.
Excellent metaphorical write.
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|A compelling poetic offering, Debs. Thank you for sharing it. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by Joseph* OneLight*®
|Out of the desert, a flower blooms. You are one such flower, dear Debashish and your words carry the sweet scent of enlightenment.
Love & Light,
|Reviewed by Crystal Silver Angel (Reader)
|Debashish, as always your descriptions always are profound to the reader..Excellent imagery..
|Reviewed by Missy Cross
|I see you peeling away the cactus roots to uncover the most precious drops of art and truth. I really loved this.|