Critical Analysis #2 |
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Poem for Mom... |
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Baba Michi Junior Member
since 2005-12-07
Posts 40Southern Germany |
The rest of the house was quiet when she played, for her spider-fingers on piano keys, for the soft light charming dust to rest in the evening sun- we kept quiet; We crept close. It was my mother who called the angels with the mournful strains of moonlight sonata, their heads bowed at its passage through the hallways... And I remember her face, full and deep as the music, perfect in its concentration. For that we stopped speaking, for the intensity with which she surrendered her spirit, her instrument an altar, keys flexed and humming against her slender hands, a sweet birth of music flooding the air and the lonely ether between worlds, to her husband in the kitchen, and her sons creeping downstairs like cats to hear their mother play. |
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© Copyright 2005 Michael - All Rights Reserved | |||
majnu![]()
since 2002-10-13
Posts 1088SF Bay Area |
in teresting imagery, but it often reads like split up sentences. work on some rythm or surprise, something to break it jagged to tighten it into some form. right now, though having intersting imagery, it reads drowsy. -majnu |
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