Caught up in the day to day grin, I thing we often do become immune to what's around us, get by, take things for granted until life does become ashes...and once that spark goes off and you begin to feel like again, there is no stopping it. Oh this has a deep dig to it, Anita...
Love, Taylor
VEry Very Good Anita
I love your word ususage
Have a Wonderful Happy Successful NEW Year!
I enjoyed the whirl here in my illusional mind
WArm HuGs,WArrior Sheee
Wonderful write my friend, you've captured the readers attention with your captivating words, your write is thought provoking causing one to use their imagination. Enjoyed it much!
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
Reviewed by Butch Howard (Reader)
Reviewed on January 8, 2007
Wow Anita! The ability to see through illusion into the true nature of reality, as most mortals hold fast to their precious deceptions, reveals the wisdom of the philosopher poet and moves the reader to a higher plane of understanding. It provokes the imagination to stretch its wings and fly towards deeper understanding.
"As days burn into memories
From ashes route....new starts"
-a brillian write!
~Butch
You just got it, Babe... that eternal je ne sais quoi... Elemental sparks fly from your poetry EVERY time I visit your page! Poetic fire is in your bones! Smokin! :)) TY K xx
This is good in so many ways. I felt I was walking a path between eternity and the moment while I read. This poem is dense with content and the verse flows effortlessly. Love the picture. JM
OH! For the mind to challenge the teachings of man and find new avenues for adventure. Whose to say anything is correct in definition?
Love this...it's my kind of poetry.
Susan
You certainly have taken your readers into several directions with this poem, Anita. For me it sparked thoughts of parallel time where everything is actually happening at the same moment, history, present and future just on different parallels. A well written, clean, concise and mystifying poem. I love the cadence of this piece.
Take care,
Sherry
The west has become a miss-mash of half baked or syncopated concepts that were once familiar anchors of any society. Language that belongs to each of us has been syncopated by elitist lexicons. We are no longer in charge of our sentences lest we utter words that are perceived to be offensive to the elite's designated victim groups - of which I can lay claim as a Scot suppossodely oppressed by the English! Garbage.
Aye, te be sure we are clutching at deceptions where tongue, morality, ethics and even tinned haggis is concerned - I ask ye, tinned haggis?
I'm a wee bit hungry noo, time te gang awa' and cut a piece o' syncopatit cheese that dares to masquarade as the real stuff - ach, oan yer bike pal!
Ma thinkin's a wee bittie on the syncopatit side the nicht, lassie, but am still able to enjoy this wee dram o' interaction wi' yer nice wee poem, hen.
Your perfect rhyme and meter join the excellent imagery to create this masterpiece, Anita! I love it -- truly it is a work of finest dimensions.
Love,
CJ
Especially in light of the fact that "syncopation" could be a broadsword metaphor for phonemics or literally, considering the poets new nom de plume, an allusion to the loss of sounds in the interior of a word, or adhering to the stereotypical usage of certain musical beats.
The poem has almost an apocalyptic feel to it, especially in light of the last strophe. Being that the final judgement for this universe in scripture is one of fire - new starts coming from the ashes could point at the Bibles promise of a new heavens and a new earth after the earth and universe has been cleansed by fire.
I see in this construct the writer "inbetween" where she used to be and where she is going. Similar to a spiritual renaissance. In this place she is gleaning new information and speaking of the wonders in the process. Powerful and mysterious as always dear BUD of mine!
And that bank of memories is nothing more than a few seconds to our creator. What a wonderful miracle he provides in such a short period of time. We call it a lifetime.
Wonderful write.
God Bless,
Lew
Reviewed by Victor Buhagiar (Reader)
Reviewed on January 5, 2007
To accept deception is a weakness. You show your inner strength with a fresh start. A poem that taxes the mind. Great. Victor
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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Love, Taylor
I love your word ususage
Have a Wonderful Happy Successful NEW Year!
I enjoyed the whirl here in my illusional mind
WArm HuGs,WArrior Sheee
Blessings,
Joyce Bowling
"As days burn into memories
From ashes route....new starts"
-a brillian write!
~Butch
I love your writing and I've missed it so. Happy New Year my friend and May Peace and Love be with You Always.
Have a wonderfully creative 2007
hugs to Zoe.
Paul;-)
Chrissy
Love this...it's my kind of poetry.
Susan
Take care,
Sherry
The west has become a miss-mash of half baked or syncopated concepts that were once familiar anchors of any society. Language that belongs to each of us has been syncopated by elitist lexicons. We are no longer in charge of our sentences lest we utter words that are perceived to be offensive to the elite's designated victim groups - of which I can lay claim as a Scot suppossodely oppressed by the English! Garbage.
Aye, te be sure we are clutching at deceptions where tongue, morality, ethics and even tinned haggis is concerned - I ask ye, tinned haggis?
I'm a wee bit hungry noo, time te gang awa' and cut a piece o' syncopatit cheese that dares to masquarade as the real stuff - ach, oan yer bike pal!
Ma thinkin's a wee bittie on the syncopatit side the nicht, lassie, but am still able to enjoy this wee dram o' interaction wi' yer nice wee poem, hen.
Love,
CJ
Especially in light of the fact that "syncopation" could be a broadsword metaphor for phonemics or literally, considering the poets new nom de plume, an allusion to the loss of sounds in the interior of a word, or adhering to the stereotypical usage of certain musical beats.
The poem has almost an apocalyptic feel to it, especially in light of the last strophe. Being that the final judgement for this universe in scripture is one of fire - new starts coming from the ashes could point at the Bibles promise of a new heavens and a new earth after the earth and universe has been cleansed by fire.
I see in this construct the writer "inbetween" where she used to be and where she is going. Similar to a spiritual renaissance. In this place she is gleaning new information and speaking of the wonders in the process. Powerful and mysterious as always dear BUD of mine!
Light and Wisdom ...
Richard Lloyd Cederberg
Wonderful write.
God Bless,
Lew
Love Tinka