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Open Poetry #47
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the lives of others
| Open Poetry #47 |
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the lives of others |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
She understood the crux of her heart Like the standing room was waiting But her seat never seemed to come Her heart was so cold I could feel the winds of the land Onto the winter landscape There was no doubting That she was like the long pearls of sawdust Rusting along, fields and rivers Rippled shirt and white washed jeans Pleasant all along the rivers scene Watching the room, The lonely strides of November Onto her stomach, Her vanilla trumpet The crux of her heart Never seemed so quiet. [This message has been edited by Tomer (05-26-2011 09:08 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2011 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved | |||
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faithmairee Senior Member
since 2011-01-05
Posts 1441Poe Haven, USA |
this is really great...i enjoyed it a lot  There must be a poem in here somewhere. |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Thanks, Faith..happy you enjoyed Cheers |
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easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
Interesting, somewhat inscrutable, and... interesting. "Vanilla trumpet" is a nice descriptive turn of phrase (for what it surely is describing here). I am trying to remember if I have ever seen a snowbound riverbank with rusty tracks in November IRL... Your carefully chosen words have brought a picture of such to mind. |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Easy, this was something that just kind of freely flowed from my head...possibly why its hard to decipher. I hope the images came to life for you, though. Cheers |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
A pleasure to read...James |
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Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Thanks,. James...always appreciate the support. Take care, friend Cheers |
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