I love the descriptions of the tree "scales" and "grid". There's something about soil in our hands, the warmth, the dichotomy of feeling stained and clean at the same time. When I was a kid and I'd help my mum in the garden, I would just pick soil up and watch its hundreds of specks fall from my hand. I found it very therapeutic. This is a damned fine poem Lizzie.
Your poetry is evolving nicely with each post.
thanks Brandon i really appreciate that
With so much concrete language that last line hit hard - being symbolic. It was a joy to read!
I’m glad you enjoyed it! Thank you
“A leaf fell.” Got me so good I can’t even explain it. Ty for delivering more. And so soon. More please.
that’s what it’s all about!! thanks Kurt. i hope you like what’s next
Really digging these short pieces. Strong, strong, strong!
!!! Thank you, Kyle!
Very welcome!
I love the descriptions of the tree "scales" and "grid". There's something about soil in our hands, the warmth, the dichotomy of feeling stained and clean at the same time. When I was a kid and I'd help my mum in the garden, I would just pick soil up and watch its hundreds of specks fall from my hand. I found it very therapeutic. This is a damned fine poem Lizzie.
“feeling stained and clean at the same time”… i know exactly the feeling but have never heard it verbalized before. thank
you for this comment !
You’re welcome :)
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—
A poem should not mean
But be.
- Archibald Macleish