by Toby H Russell
Monday, September 08, 2008
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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A poem for my wife
In their brown,
under her black forest,
a forest that catches a sun or a cloud alight,
in that brown
are ice-coals, engine-souls,
mechanical mysteries infinitely complex
and very far away, lost
and home-sick on differing paths. Earth colours here
and there, with their dark-heart moon
of love and hurt, of trust given
and pierced again. Cold at need,
a warm garden under wraps
waits for the right spring,
for a still truth
in a sad and shifty world.
Sleep smokes at their edges, stirs
the pots of witches' dreams in
and out of focus, cooking hot wet brews
for the lucky few, who scold their tongues
on her inward curling flame.
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|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|What a splendidly lovely gift, Toby. Thank you for sharing it. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader)
|Reviewed by Edwin Hurdle
|Very beautiful,I enjoy reading it,take care
|Reviewed by Richard Atwood
|"pots of witches' dreams... hot wet brews" stunningly descriptive.
Although, where does the "Virgin" fit in? Really enjoyed the
way you play, twist, and entangle the words and images. Very fine.
|Reviewed by Toby Russell
|Thank you for taking the time to comment on this one. I'm happy that you liked it.
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|Very sensual piece of deep love and inner beauty....
Be always safe,