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Amid this timber life of mine
and it is always dry there too;
my years like pickles soaked in brine.
I’m not, I’m right? My den, my coo.
A wealth of choices incomplete,
the day is done, no time to roam,
a life of bark and of deceit.
My core rooted in her frail loam.
| You have added another dimension in describing scrupples. Sort of like damn if I don't and damn if I do. The white scum that forms on a batch of pickles needs to be removed to keep them from rotting.|
I LIKE IT !!!!
|| Posted on 2008-02-07 00:00:00 | by realpoet | [ Reply to This ] || I could not help but think about the danger in dryness versus the safety in pickling. LOL---that is probably because of all the fires lately in California being headline news while dryness definitely contributes to fire dangers.|
Oh, yes, I'm off on a tangent and that's definitely not what you intended!!
You're a genius at use of metaphors and I could read poems like this one for hours just letting my mind roam through the words to its own fancy.
Well done, :-) Sharon
|| Posted on 2007-12-09 00:00:00 | by Peggy Paris | [ Reply to This ] || Very Nice Write|
To me you are speaking of a Beautiful Relationship
You easilly show the reader even a perfect relationship has its flaws as nothing on this Earth is completely perfect
I liked the inclussion of nature to show how deep this relationship is to you
Looking forward to reading more new writes from you
|| Posted on 2007-11-23 00:00:00 | by Ronswords | [ Reply to This ] || I like this poem. The juxtaposition of the dryness and the pickles soaked in brine was interesting. I also liked how bark implies deceit - like a covering up of what lies underneath. A lot of poems can be sing-songy when they rhyme, but yours definitely strayed far from that. Again, I like it. Oh--and thank you for the welcome. :-)||| Posted on 2007-11-14 00:00:00 | by Cait | [ Reply to This ] |