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Richard Atwood

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Member Since: Aug, 2008

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Caravan
by Richard Atwood
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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           >> View all 27

From the ms.
How Deep The Pain Goes Quiet, After

 


                 CARAVAN


     The fall days.
     Earlier part of November,
     there are no leaves left...
     love withers like old trees,

     Want: staggering from face after face,
     hope after hope, into nothing.
            Reaching... whispering.
     If God is deaf, why too, the idols
                    human ears?
 

     The trial of a thousand 
     such seasons 
                             never mended...
     hurried the road toward the mountains.

             It is no good.
                   It is unended...
                           (where, when?).

     Spices and herbs dropped among the thorns.


     To be loved by,
     what so desperately was sought
             to be found... yet is never
                           met...
     always craved -- hallowed to be given.


     And winter moves         icily...
                  the sun down.

     (Camel bells tinkling in the twilight
                  past the moon.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reviewed by A Serviceable Villain 2/2/2009
Richard~!

Great poetic style and verse - excellent!!


Best Always,

Lance
Reviewed by Axilea MU 11/18/2008
Effective writing, elliptic and evocative.
" The trial of a thousand
such seasons
never mended..."
these lines have an impact on me.

Axilea
Reviewed by Elizabeth Russo 11/17/2008
One does not read your poetry, one devours it ... slowly. You spread your heart so colorfully onto the page and I find myself saying "why didn't I write that?" Beautiful, beautiful! Best, Elizabeth
Reviewed by Georg Mateos 11/17/2008
"...reaching...whispering...to be loved by...yet is never me..." when fall comes it takes with it the cold, and the casual indiference nurtured by the warmth of Summer evaporates and Fall suddenly tells you that the time of solitude is here.

Georg




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