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    dots Submission Name: Poem of Cold Placesdots

    Author: LunaMoth
    Elite Ratio:    5.87 - 25/19/10
    Words: 109
    Class/Type: Poetry/Love
    Total Views: 1000
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 781

       It's not precisely a love poem, but that was as close as I could get.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsPoem of Cold Placesdots

    The deserts are frozen
    and so are the forests,
    and the raindrops
    hang suspended
    in the icy air.

    You walk here
    and there,
    hands in
    head down.

    You do not
    see the frostís
    thin writing.

    Past the gate of
    the white picket
    fence, which
    stands ajar,
    although no one
    goes into
    the garden
    The roses
    will not open.

    And I speak but this:

    In a world which so
    lost its ups and
    as for those who fall,
    for the trippers
    and the stumblers,

    could we not as well
    call them

    Submitted on 2008-07-30 22:51:55     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    Rate This Submission

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    ||| Comments |||
      Here is this poem translated into rednecK:

    Th' deserts is frozen an' so is th' fo'ests, an' th' raindrops hang suspended in th' icy air. Yo' walk hyar an' thar, han's in pockets, haid down, as enny fool kin plainly see. Yo' does not see th' frostís thin writin'. Past th' gate of th' white picket fence, which stan's ajar, although no one goes into th' garden ennymo'e. Th' roses will not open, as enny fool kin plainly see. An' ah speak but this: In a wo'ld which so suddenly lost its ups an' downs, as fo' them who fall, fo' th' trippers an' th' stumblers, c'd we not as fine call them angels?

    I just thought it was funny.

    If you want to dialectize anything go to http://www.rinkworks.com/dialect/
    | Posted on 2008-08-30 00:00:00 | by LunaMoth | [ Reply to This ]
      Well, since ma already nitpicked, I guess I don't have much else to add, although I do like "frost's thin writing", but I see where ma is coming from. And I do like "the roses will not open." Only because it will not open in contrast with the gate, which does open.

    The end of this poem is gorgeous, and you sound like someone whom I would love to speak with only so I could see the beauty in your mind. It was just so lovely, honestly. So pure.

    Thank you for sharing.
    Be well,
    | Posted on 2008-08-01 00:00:00 | by EmpathicAya | [ Reply to This ]
    Well I...
    I can only say...


    (And I would keep the line spacing the way it is.)
    | Posted on 2008-07-31 00:00:00 | by WhatYouWill | [ Reply to This ]
      The deserts are frozen,
    as are the forests, the raindrops
    hang suspended in the icy air.

    walking here and there,
    hands in pockets,
    head down.

    unseen are the frost's thin words.

    past the gate of the white picket
    fence, which stands ajar,
    although no one goes into this
    garden anymore.
    for the roses will not unfold.

    And I speak but this:
    In a world which so suddenly
    lost its ups and downs,
    as for those who fall,
    for the trippers, the stumblers

    could we not as well
    call them angels?

    hmmmm... well then.
    i must apologize for taking so much liberty with your words but these are only the humble ideas of a fellow stringer together-er of said thingies.
    so please take them as such and whatnot.

    now i must admit to being quite perplexed as to what may or may not be the goings on here. i do take away a vivid image of a small cemetery more quiet than perhaps, oh say, around memorial day. silent under a fresh blanket of new snow and somehow forgotten.
    not sure why, this, but it was just the image that stuck upon my read.
    quite lovely without revealing much.
    or maybe it is my tired eyes?

    fill me in if you like.


    | Posted on 2008-07-31 00:00:00 | by ma | [ Reply to This ]

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