Flung out to dry
sheets of soaking cloud.
A perfect mental copy?
No way to tell.
By The Hideaway
slick pavement’s
patchy glitter: fool’s
gold. Return.
Stretching for a knife
to slit my boot laces
I grip its shadow.
Flung out to dry
sheets of soaking cloud.
A perfect mental copy?
No way to tell.
By The Hideaway
slick pavement’s
patchy glitter: fool’s
gold. Return.
Stretching for a knife
to slit my boot laces
I grip its shadow.
I really enjoyed this poem...even if I didn't understand it. -Can you explain it? :)- I can see why you have been published so many times. I'm working on that, but I don't have the confidence in my poetry yet.
ReplyDeleteBy the way, I yearn to go to England.
(onemorning85 from Deviantart)
hi Lauren, thanks for your comment. the poem's about the way we experience the external world - the clouds we see, though they seem to exist 'out there' are occurring to us as mental events - we might question how accurately, if at all, those mental events correspond to the external data that seems to stimulate them. after all, pavements can glitter as if they were made of gold, and yet are not. and what if, beyond objects themselves, we could grasp their shadows? i liked your site, btw, and think you've got talent, a good eye and a strong voice. what you need to learn now, if you don't mind my saying, is how to remove everything from your work that you don't need.
ReplyDeleteHmm...what do you mean? Can you show me some sort of example?
ReplyDelete