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Literature Text
An incessant wind is blowing
the dying wheat
around my knees.
Fragile stalks
clutch at my faded denim
like lost and hungry children.
My mouth like this soil,
perpetually dry.
Out here,
the sun is so bright
it lights your sins,
here is no place to flee.
It has burnt me
into such a broken mirage,
I have become
unconvinced of myself.
I kneel on this
seared, sooty land,
like a lunatic, praying in
a patchwork perdition.
Dusty boots trod
this gaping earth,
crossing cracks wide enough
to swallow my faith.
These forgotten fields hold
patterns of loss so close,
like a child’s blanket.
If Hope is a rare shadow,
you’ll find neither here,
even our memories
have become distant memories.
The sky
has forgotten how to cry.
the dying wheat
around my knees.
Fragile stalks
clutch at my faded denim
like lost and hungry children.
My mouth like this soil,
perpetually dry.
Out here,
the sun is so bright
it lights your sins,
here is no place to flee.
It has burnt me
into such a broken mirage,
I have become
unconvinced of myself.
I kneel on this
seared, sooty land,
like a lunatic, praying in
a patchwork perdition.
Dusty boots trod
this gaping earth,
crossing cracks wide enough
to swallow my faith.
These forgotten fields hold
patterns of loss so close,
like a child’s blanket.
If Hope is a rare shadow,
you’ll find neither here,
even our memories
have become distant memories.
The sky
has forgotten how to cry.
Literature
lightkeeping
As you pick up the lantern in front of you, you find it filled with a busy, buzzing flurry of lights. Somebody stuffed fireflies into this one - not the proper thing at all. You unfasten the latch, open the door; the little bugs stream out gratefully. They bathe the wayside in a faint glow for a moment, then vanish in the pitch-black of the Long Night one by one.
You settle down cross-legged and gently put the empty lantern onto your lap to dream up a star.
Literature
Entwined
In dew-bright dawn the green sap runs
From ageless roots the cycles draw
The summer bloom from winter’s thaw
Our youth has seen uncounted suns
The moonlight wanes; the known stars fall
Yet still we live and love anew
We rise in joy like summer dew
Return Beyond at autumn’s call
And so we dance the early light
Eternal hearts in time entwined
The turning cycle spinning, blind
Embracing us in secret night
Literature
A Gift
I keep thinking about burying myself in your embrace, my face in your hair. And while I regret the fact that we both seem to be too much of damaged, quietly broken cowards to even talk about that night when we so naturally, seamlessly, gravitated towards each other, seeking warmth and comfort underneath the covers - using our sleep-pliant bodies to protect each other from the night - I am glad that it happened at all. Because to know that it is not a thing of fiction to actually feel like that in someone's arms… I am afraid you will never know how much of a gift it was that you unwittingly gave me. Still, I would give near anything for
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Sometimes it just doesn't rain.
© 2009 - 2024 brassteeth
Comments30
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Overall
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Originality
Technique
Impact
As a daughter of farmers I really can relate to this poem although to me, it had a slightly different meaning, a bit more surreal, which is great as it makes the poem more universal. The imagery is fantastic and you immediately sucked me in with the interesting and easy to understand vocabulary. Lines like:
clutch at my faded denim
like lost and hungry children.
like a lunatic, praying in
a patchwork perdition.
patterns of loss so close,
like a child’s blanket.
and the whole second stanza struck me as particularly colourful and expressive. The images you paint are vivid and emotional and stick to the consciousness of the reader. In the first three stanzas there's hardly any word that breaks the flow, at least on my opinion. One word that didn't quite work for me is "perpetually". I would substitute it for something which expresses more cruelty. Also, I don't know if you've considered it, but I think adding more sound to the poem could make it not only more realistic but also much more impressive.
I have to say, though, that the build-up you create in the first three stanzas somewhat fades towards the end - the second half of the fourth stanza and the last two lines. The repetition of "memories" puzzled me. If you put it there on purpose then you should emphasize that purpose further because it doesn't show; if not, then the flow would benefit from removing the second one. All in all, the last four lines of the fourth stanza are a bit too wordy, even though the idea expressed there can work as a nice ending. But it just isn't as intense as the rest, isn't as vivid. If I were you, I'd try using a metaphor for hope or an allegory. Distinct descriptions seem to work very well with this idea so why abandon them towards the end?
As about the last two lines, I've seen similar expressions too many times before to be impressed. The same concept can be depicted in a lot of more original and descriptive ways. Also I'd consider finding an especially striking element from the surroundings that would shock the reader and make them want to read more. That element could either serve as a contrasting point to the rest of the poem (for example suddenly running across a ripper and a tractor driver kissing, despite the previously described desperation of the scene) or further emphasize the feeling (for example seeing a corpse of an animal).
I absolutely adore this work and the only reason I'm not giving you five points in each section is because of the certain disappointment I felt about the ending. I expected something more striking.
Please, keep in mind that these are only suggestions and opinions you can choose to either put into use or ignore. You're the author after all.
Regards,
D