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Eighteen wheelers push through the air on Glen McConnell Parkway to the right of me. 50 yards, perhaps. I am sitting, at dusk, on my small screen porch; the wind wisping leaves from branches on the wetland's edge to the left of me. 15 yards, perhaps. Ah, and I hear a beetle rubbing his legs for a mate. With my thoughts running deeper than an oceanic trench, shallow metaphors do not matter. The sounds buttress my mood, give me life, sink the noise of doubt. In the moment, I sit alone, no voices, no foreign concepts. The separation between my youth and my future does not exist. Only the moment, peace. The harassment of tomorrow will wait. |
i really dig poems of moments captured with observations intertwined. you are able to draw the reader in to where you are on that porch; viewing what you view. feeling what you feel. it's not like a list. it's not boring in the least. there is a comfort to be found in the just being. yup, peace and comfort. nice to find little pieces of them both, from time to time. | Posted on 2009-03-28 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ] | indeed. | the harrasment of tomorrow will wait and i think its important to be able to find those moments that are free from the chasms of "reality"... the moments that embrace peace and put everything else on the shelf in its box in an ordered and unpestering way. i adore the oceanic trench with shallow metaphors not meaning anything... its an awesome stanza and the image as a whole seems to put everything into perspective for me today. | Posted on 2009-03-27 00:00:00 | by Someones Epiphany | [ Reply to This ] | "small screen porch" is lovely. | What I like is how you bring the exterior closer and closer until the mood and thought is the oceanic trench and buttress of sound. Some nice crafting went into this. DB | Posted on 2009-03-25 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ] | |