by C. J. Stevens
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Not rated by the Author.
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The wind will keep them gossiping
for hours. Just under, under the mud,
their sensual toes curl for the touch
of water. Before a snowfall
one can follow their tracks, down and back.
They disappear in their tattered capes,
belted with buckles of gold. They are
the pampered ones - often spoiled brats.
On hot days they wear spinelike feathers
pinned to bonnets of blue. Sometimes
snobbish and high-strung, they are
unpredictable, these tall girls.
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|Reviewed by John Bushore
|Being an Indiana boy, transplanted to Virginia, this touched a deep chord inside of me. Sorry for the plagiarism, Michelle, I felt the same. Nice, Americana imagery.
|Reviewed by Michelle Mills
|Being an Indiana girl transplanted to Florida, this touched a deep chord inside of me. Michelle|
|Reviewed by Mitzi Jackson
|I have had this re-acurring dream
where I am lured out of my window by a mysterious man
(handsome I am sure) his shadow anyway,
and we embrace in the darkness surrounded by cornstalks that block the majority of the sunlite....
not really but for some reason this is what I thought as I read this
thank you for sharing I did enjoy your poem
and the thoughts that lingered from *BigSmiles
|Reviewed by Dawn Richerson
|great descriptive write|
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
growing up in ohio as i did, this brought back the sights, sounds and smells of cornfields. and i shucked plenty of ears :)
love this descriptive delight--thank you
(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)
|Reviewed by Sue Hess
|what a wonderfully descriptive poem, i could almost see the corn field by my aunt's house|