Kate...please lend me your imagery for few days so that I can compose poems as you do.
"lively voices
spilling the dawn."
Am reading this gem again and again....My AD friends, please read this poem aloud and then you will feel the real beat......gem of a write Kate....short but profound...hall mark of a true poet...cheers...BHUWAN!!!
Your words and the twists you put them through are delicious! Is it that yu get better and better, or am I feasting on poetry to which I am addicted? Whatever, I am glad to read your work on any subject.
Incredible Poetry Kate, Love every bit of it, yes..morning is my favorite time of the day...the solitude is short, as life awakens in song of bird :)
Love,
Christine
Oh sweet Kate as always your words float on a cloud of soft sensuality mixed with a tinge of sadness. I loved the first line especially "the light was still in mourning" I often wake at that gray period when the sky is still in the transition between night and day and if alone it does feel like you are hushed in a funeral parlor...until the birds decide to sing. Wonderful Kate.
hugs
fee
I love the line...when light was still in mourning... That first stanza paints a picture of hush and quiet...interrupted only by the musical cacophony of birds songs. Yet...what I liked is that your words of "mourning" lent a different air to the whole picture...one of melancholy and one of someone who has the weight of the world on their shoulders, lonely, missing those or that which they are mourning.
The second stanza I kept getting stuck on the word were...I wanted to say where...but that didn't make sense... :~)
I could see the image of that red-eyed insomniac, but then...I could also see the image of a sunrise in hues of red...mopping up the darkness with his golden rays of sunlight. I'm not sure which way you meant that last stanza, if either... but either way, your imagery is always superb!
Cryssa :~)
P.S. I can picture you as "yellow"... since you share your sunny, glowing personality with us through your poetry.
Lately I've been waking at dawn and sharing it with my baby girl. Those birds have no notion of human time-lines. They just know it's morning, and they sing it to the world-- good clean lines flooding out on the good, clean morning air.
Here's a little piece chuck-full of yawning visuals gaping in the back of the mind... I love it. And that mopping-up line is to die for, Kate!
Kate,
The nudge of reality at the transfer transitional moment captured in soft focus and yet with an underlying hard, a sorrow to be overcome in a new day.
John
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Sheila
Lin
"lively voices
spilling the dawn."
Am reading this gem again and again....My AD friends, please read this poem aloud and then you will feel the real beat......gem of a write Kate....short but profound...hall mark of a true poet...cheers...BHUWAN!!!
EDWIN
Most enjoyable
Luff, - Bill
Carole~
(((HUGS))) love and prayer, Karla. :(
Love,
Christine
hugs
fee
The second stanza I kept getting stuck on the word were...I wanted to say where...but that didn't make sense... :~)
I could see the image of that red-eyed insomniac, but then...I could also see the image of a sunrise in hues of red...mopping up the darkness with his golden rays of sunlight. I'm not sure which way you meant that last stanza, if either... but either way, your imagery is always superb!
Cryssa :~)
P.S. I can picture you as "yellow"... since you share your sunny, glowing personality with us through your poetry.
Here's a little piece chuck-full of yawning visuals gaping in the back of the mind... I love it. And that mopping-up line is to die for, Kate!
--Charlie
The nudge of reality at the transfer transitional moment captured in soft focus and yet with an underlying hard, a sorrow to be overcome in a new day.
John
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D
In Spirit,
Bear
the red-eyed insomniac. Sans the singing. -gene.