Hot August afternoon. An old, electric fan circulates the muggy air. Its noise fills my mind with the disconcerting sound of a brigade of super-sized flies descending or the chopper that lands too late on the battlefield where I lie bloodied and withering.
Your absence clings more to me than the humidity.
I stare into flowered blades of North, South, East, West blended to a blur that sucks me, willing, wandering soul, into spiral-spinning, man-made momentum meant to reinvigorate staid surroundings with winds of change.
Where is Autumn’s God-fan, golden dying time?
Swirling metal, razor-sharp, cannot slice pain of separation and eddies of forced air fail to cool passion’s flame or revive me from winter’s loss of hope and you this hot August afternoon.
ugh the humidity is the worst... I can deal with the heat but not the stickiness... this poem works really well with the imagery of the fan... that just spins without cooling...
very nice flow to this, moved nicely from fan to chopper...from space to space, time to time. i like it
Reviewed by Al Swanson (Reader)
Reviewed on August 30, 2004
Hi Dawn
I liked all these, and they most certainly did seem to speak to a center of me, I suppose like the fan itself constructed, with a rolling center. The first one showed allot of imagination, to sa the utmost least, witht the the chopper, I liked particularly the second one. "flowered blades", "blended to a blur" and also I did like wondering soul too although many might claim it cliche ish, I liked it right there. and it also had passion in it, and honesty, ty Al
After a long awaited weekend visitation caused by false allegations of sexual abuse, Glen got to see his children for the first time in over two months. He promised them that they would never be apart again and then they disappeared.
At the young of age of seven, Jill's mother Eve takes her for regular sessions to a child psychologist for treatment of her anxiety, which only makes her behavior worse. When she reaches her teens, she starts drinking and then smoking marijuana with
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and the other out of reach, beyond the branches and the garden.
k
Peter
and full of emotion at the same time. A rich mixture of
poetic thought...
I liked all these, and they most certainly did seem to speak to a center of me, I suppose like the fan itself constructed, with a rolling center. The first one showed allot of imagination, to sa the utmost least, witht the the chopper, I liked particularly the second one. "flowered blades", "blended to a blur" and also I did like wondering soul too although many might claim it cliche ish, I liked it right there. and it also had passion in it, and honesty, ty Al