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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Dust to Dustdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: VanillaLeaves
    Elite Ratio:    4.1 - 101/110/23
    Words: 170
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1053
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1184



    Description:
       Dust interests me, it fascinates me to no end. The way it multiplies in the sunligh, and clings to your hand when you run it over soft varnish. I like dust. I know it doesn't really make sense and yet it amuses me.


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

    dotsDust to Dustdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Wind is a dusty hand
    that plucks the trees,
    strums the grass blades,
    plays the world like a harp,
    until it shakes the dry
    particles of potential nothingness out.

    A hand compacts flour,
    the white dust of life,
    crushes and packages it in paper.
    Almost solid, it falls
    breaking through the sieve
    into the dust of decaying supernovas
    hanging in oblivion, cool
    to the touch..

    Wind stirs flour,
    gleans it from the warm crusts
    of morning loaves, gathers dust
    from between cobble stones,
    holes in worn asphalt,
    and lonely concrete cracks.

    Dust
    to dust on old windowsills,
    on the new countertop,
    a shadow of gray white
    against polished marble.
    Dust falls from human hands
    that shed like snakes in winter
    and burrows into the depths of gray carpet.

    Blue dust, mingled
    with sand on the lakeshore,
    blue as the sun draws its color
    out of old glass
    and into the embrace of space,
    blue as the ashes
    stirred with each breath.




    Submitted on 2005-02-14 19:24:36     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      Like Brooke, I too, was expecting something about death but was pleasantly suprised. Dust..from wind to hand and back to wind in the first 3 stanzas was clever. It's a write that engulfs the reader. I found at the end I was wanting to read more, like it could have continued a bit.. or gone back to the dust of the wind..that sort of thing. Very good write!
    | Posted on 2005-03-12 00:00:00 | by Intricate1 | [ Reply to This ]
      This is excellent. I like dust too. I love to watch it dance gracefully in a beam of light through a window blind.

    Wind is a dusty hand
    that plucks the trees,
    strums the grass blades,
    plays the world like a harp,
    until it shakes the dry
    particles of potential nothingness out

    I love how wind is a dusty hand that also blows out dust. I like the idea of wind playing the grass like a harp.

    it falls
    breaking through the sieve
    into the dust of decaying supernovas
    hanging in oblivion, cool
    to the touch..

    It's kind of cool to think that all of the building blocks of life came from celestial collisions and such. That's really effective.

    Dust falls from human hands
    that shed like snakes in winter
    and burrows into the depths of gray carpet

    Yeah, it's really gross to think of whose skin cells you're inhaling. Molting of a snake occurs in one day, and we shed skin cells gradually, so I'm not sure they're analagous.

    I think you could pare this down a bit. If it were tighter, it would make a greater impact.

    I've actually written several poems about dust. I have one posted here called A Dust That Lingers. I have one about cremation called Robert's Dust.
    | Posted on 2005-02-14 00:00:00 | by cuddledumplin | [ Reply to This ]
      i have never read a poem that uses dust as subject matter...every line is very good and well writin... and if anyone has ever writin a poem about dust it has probly been a long time...so you realy knocked the dust of that subject..<evil smerk>...heh... try writin a poem about crack, i would like to see how that comes out if you wrote it like this poem...lol... ok take care and write another
    | Posted on 2005-02-14 00:00:00 | by snacky fish | [ Reply to This ]
      My favorite part of this piece is the first stanza. Very visual for me. Yay for dust. I never really thought about dust that much.. but come to think of it.. I like it very much as well. It's kind of cool? eh? Maybe I'm weird.. :P

    Anywho.. this piece caught my attention.. very original. When I saw the title i figured it was gonna be all about death or something.. but i was pleasantly suprised. Keep it up.
    Brooke
    | Posted on 2005-02-14 00:00:00 | by melancholystar | [ Reply to This ]
      very interesting take on dust. I must say you made something very creative out of the thorn in the side of many women (and men) who keep dusting and dusting without being able to make it go away. dust to dust and dust in the wind have nothing on this one.
    | Posted on 2005-02-14 00:00:00 | by sierramuse8 | [ Reply to This ]
      I saw this listed in Amy's favorites and was curious as to what it was about. I think it is a super write. dust as the beginning and end of everything.

    I loved the way you weave images in and out of the various stanzas, repeating the words but changing the meaning. "The wind is a dusty hand-" in the first stanza, then "A hand compacts flour" in the next and then again in the next "Wind stirs flour,". The repetition is in the words only, the concepts ever changing, just as the wind is always blowing, yet if you looked through a huge zoom lens, you could see that the particles it moves are always changing, -kind of like you can't step in the same river twice idea.

    The bread making imagery also caught my atention, I loved these lines
    "Wind stirs flour,
    gleans it from the warm crusts
    of morning loaves, "

    Here again you toss an image out, abandon it then very delicately reflect back to it later, the flour from those morning loaves is the same as that from the previous stanza-
    "A hand compacts flour,
    the white dust of life,"
    -there seems to be many levels to what you are saying here, made more apparent with each re-read. I liked the white dust of life (connotes bread as the "staff" of life), and I see this dust you speak of as the molecules of everything swirling about in a wind, a flour with which the unseen hand creates life (bread).

    The fourth stanza begins with
    "Dust
    to dust
    on old windowsills,
    on the new countertop,"

    Here I felt, with the contrasts between old
    windowsills and new countertop, and the grey and white particles, and the mention of marble, that you were thinking of death of the old, and birth, and how its all a cycle. Regeneration, as subtle as the 1,00's of skin cells slough daily, or as dramatic as the snake's shedding its' skin, remodelling, new counters in old houses, nothing is really ever truly new, just re-organized.

    By now i am really getting into this poem, and this wind of dust takes me to the lakeshore, where there is blue dust,mingled with the sand, "blue as the sun draws its color
    out of old glass and into the embrace of space" here I "almost" get it, the sand is the dust or basic component of glass, and you are returning to the space imagery and the "decaying supernovas". I lose how the sun gets its color, but if i keep re-reading it it may pop up at me. I could be off base on my whole interpretation (or lack thereof), but it really doesn't matter.
    I like this for its playfullness, the wind scattering dust and manipulating it into various forms through time and space, and I like how your crafting of it does the same thing, scatters fragments of concepts about, and then re-combines almost as softly as a whisper, and just when you think you recognize the tune, another track is playing.
    I can see why Amy faved this, but i disagree that it's too long. I think it needs that space to do that stuff you do, the repetition, the juxtapostioning of concepts and the swirling changing, chameleon like thoughts/minutiae that make up the whole poem.
    To me there is more to this than just dust
    I like it very much, and now i too shall be evermore fascinated with dust.

    Aside: In the summer of 1989, there were enormous forest fires raging across northern Canada. I was working "grave-yard" up in Northern Alberta, near Peace River. and was utterly fascinated with the night sky up there. (They call it the midnight-twilight zone because the nights are so short) The skies however for weeks bore a smoky haze, that altered the usual sharp clear view . I liked to think of that smoke, the fine ash, the dust, as the gazillion of particles of the trees, birds, animals that had perished-slowly travelling across the country, literally leaving a piece of themselves in /on everything. This poem reminds me of that feeling i had way back then.
    Thanks
    Silver
    | Posted on 2005-02-19 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ]


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