Whittling Words
By catherine poarch
- 3396 reads
I am carving my words from the Willow,
from the Apple Tree
and the Oak,
from the stubborn and ancient forests
that defied the Norman Yoke.
I am whittling words from the Elder,
from the Sycamore
and the Lime.
Their roots that delve into darkness
have drunk from
the draughts of time.
The birds that sing on the branches
have flown over
blood red seas.
Their songs seep into the sapping.
They glitter the sinewy trees.
I will hide my words in the city,
in the alleyway
and the street.
You may glance as you pass and forget them,
you may walk with them
under your feet.
I will plant my words on the barren,
on the cracks
in the paving stone.
I will grow you words out of darkness,
for when
you are standing
alone.
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Comments
a good bouncy style and words
a good bouncy style and words that whistle through your teeth and whittles your breath.
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Nice of you to say so (in a a
Nice of you to say so (in a a post about the excellance of your poem).
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I really like the rhyme and
I really like the rhyme and rhythm of this piece, particular 'their roots that delve into darkness, have drunk from the draughts of time'.
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Outward and inward, this
Outward and inward, this breathes and suffocates in a seamless mess that I quite like. The word 'stubborn' seems important.
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I liked this.
I liked this.
( I am carving my words from the...)
How about adding a Golden cherry tree that bore the fruit from your well deserved woody tale.
Regards.
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Enjoyed this, Catherine. I
Enjoyed this, Catherine. I got a sense of Paganism and fae, deiberate or not. The natural growth of wood and whittled words together gains in power, ending most restoratively. Some lovely language.
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Hi Catherine,
Hi Catherine,
I don't know how I came to miss this amazing poem.
Loved everything about it and the style of words had me captivated.
Wonderful. Congrats on the well deserved gold cherries.
Jenny.
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