|
| Reviewed by Diana Legun |
7/3/2012 |
|
| "...raining upwards, to the sky" one of your many abstract visions that, evidenced from comments on your variety of work, enthrall those who read them. This palette from which you paint has colors you have mixed that are not seen on many canvases. Transfixing to look at them. Thank you. ~~ DIana |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Patrick Granfors |
12/6/2011 |
|
| I always enjoy your unique insights of time and the human condition. Patrick |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by C. McGovern-Bowen |
11/22/2011 |
|
ah axilea, the god/desses are so kind to give us that
cuddling space called dreams...
beautifully expressed, poetess!
peace,
carolyn
|
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Kathy Armijo |
11/21/2011 |
|
| I see myself in each of your lines. The desolation, sadness and hope. You have somehow managed to write a self-guiding in depth look for each of us to follow. From every part of my heart and soul I "thank you!" for the strength of your words and the wisdom that you impart. God bless you. |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by dan Rosenhagen |
11/17/2011 |
|
My eyes too have been opened to this emotional piece of art so beautifully painted by such a talented soul. Thanks for the insight and depth of this brilliant work. Thanks again Axilea.
dan |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Kate Burnside |
11/16/2011 |
|
feeling unwanted, a body in a landfill
just a passing cloud
just a passing cloud
in one sunny afternoon
... how we can feel that acute passivity and emptiness of this! And yet the hope in your concluding lines - where does it come from? The force that set the stuffed fox free? Love the surprise in this. As always, your words intrigue and entrance. xx |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Sandy Hoynacki |
11/14/2011 |
|
| Love the way you write with intrigue always blending with descriptive metaphorical images dancing in and out of every line..... |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Christine Alwin |
11/13/2011 |
|
"feeling unwanted, a body in a landfill" phew, your poem is novel, each line a story of it's own..impressive work!
|
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Liana Margiva |
11/12/2011 |
|
| EXCELLENT!!!!!!! I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Christine Tsen |
11/11/2011 |
|
Amazing how you write of paradoxes and have such power of awareness!
I so love "a fox, once stuffed, is now running free / profane space turns into sacred grove".
Blessings,
Christine |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Jon Willey |
11/10/2011 |
|
| the search is life long Axilea -- we are constantly seeking, evaluating, always in want of the who, what, when, where, how and why of it -- answers come in jigsaw puzzled pieces taking a lifetime, if we are fortunate, to assemble and then, interpretation is a trickster! -- the game of life requires a resolute appreciation and acceptance that the quizzical will always exceed the answers -- I bid you joy, love and peace my dear friend -- Jon Michael |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by jude forese |
11/10/2011 |
|
so many excellent verses in this one, Alexia ... i particularly was impressed with:
"ticking clock missing heartbeat
breath withheld: a red fish moment
asphyxiating in a snow globe"
powerful impact ... |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by stan nassano |
11/10/2011 |
|
| I especially like how you wraped [circled]it up to a completion,i wonder if this is a snapshot of everyman, or perhaps I'm just seeing to much of myself in "him"....bravo Axilea |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by John Flanagan |
11/10/2011 |
|
'was' in the title; 'is' in the body.
he has put it behind him and has emerged
new, but that it is the nub - the life
that was disappointment, incompleteness,
restlessness of spirit...finding ourselves
is the ultimate challenge.
Axilea...yes!
John |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Douglas Bentley |
11/9/2011 |
|
Excellent - like your asking the reader questions and then you guide them to the answer.
db |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by D. Vaineo |
11/9/2011 |
|
WoW!! Axilea!! Your poem is like an elusive butterfly!!
Always,
Deborah |
|
|
|
|
| Reviewed by Roger Wayne Eberle |
11/9/2011 |
|
| this could be the minutia endemic to so many, this concatenated imagery, so vivid so clear, these fallen leaves, so rich to the ear, these dying embers whose crackles we hear as the campfire light under starlight disappears. Your poetry as usual, Axilea is evocative and splendid, and as always, too close to home, I fear. Looking forward to upcoming finery. You wear it so well. |
|
|
|
Share
Print
Save