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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: ANNIE MCPHEEdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: hanuman
    ASL Info:    3 score & 10 & some!
    Elite Ratio:    5.99 - 804/1015/239
    Words: 273
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 662
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1856



    Description:
       The mother of a friend died at the ripe old age of 96. Yes there was a Cyclone Lusi that day and yes it was the Ides of March and yes I did see a Morepork (a little owl) in broad daylight.


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    dotsANNIE MCPHEEdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Cyclone Lusi came today and swept her mother’s soul away.
    There was a morepork in my garden
    hawking butterflies in the pre-storm gloom.
    On these her Ides of March what auguries.
    Our ancient apricot
    sensing its terminal rot,
    the fungal polypore,
    the canker at its inner core,
    set its last copious flush of fruit.
    So her mother lay, branches drooping low,
    her windfall progeny around her bed.
    To move a tree, you wrench its roots
    from their mycelial embrace.
    She wrenched our hearts
    with her preliminary dissociation from reality.
    The strawberries in the potager had vanished.
    Her mother was cataract blue wide eyed innocence.
    “Did you pick the strawberries?”
    “No,” she denied,
    her old lips with misapplied lipstick
    and a scarlet moko on her chin.
    Cyclone Lusi came today and swept her mother’s soul away.
    Her body mere spindrift spindle sticks,
    chalk branches carried downstream by the Ngaruroro,
    cast up among the driftwood heaps on Awatoto beach.
    She had been deep-rooted
    in the soil of Maraekakaho;
    in her genealogy of the McPhees of old Tiree;
    in her socialist principles – the only labour vote cast at Kereru,
    the only strawberry moko in a field of cornflower blue.
    Annie was not broken by life nor snapped off in the storm.
    She was gently eased out of the ground.
    Cyclone Lusi came today and swept her mother’s soul away
    high into the vault and vortex of heaven
    to drift down gently like a white feather
    over the kittiwake cliffs of Ceann a Mhara.
    In my garden among the wind-stripped leaves
    is a fallen nest of dead fledgling chicks.
    Today’s only tragedy.




    Submitted on 2014-04-07 19:36:54     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I have missed your poetry, happy to see you posting something new. As always, I can't really much constructive--( If it ain't broke, why fix it?)

    I admire the way you can blend rhyming techniques, alliteration, even humour with doleful, unfortunate events and somehow evoke more emotion than others might by using more explicit means.
    I loved your descriptions, the cataract/cornflower blues, the strawberry stains/ moko, and this---
    "Her body mere spindrift spindle sticks,
    chalk branches carried downstream by the Ngaruroro,
    cast up among the driftwood heaps on Awatoto beach." Very beautiful imagery underlining the natural endings of all things in due course.

    I still remember a long-time ago post from your pen,--The Yellow Chicken Coop" ( or similar) I read it at a time when I was about to lose a good friend, and I printed it out fro him.

    I so agree with your closing--
    "In my garden among the wind-stripped leaves
    is a fallen nest of dead fledgling chicks.
    Today’s only tragedy"
    Sally

    "“The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.”
    | Posted on 2014-04-08 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ]


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