Like a thirsting wick
he drew the damned to cinders
leaving walls
vacant of all but
frames of dust
and the sound of
one
white pebble in the well.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 19 of 19
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Nice extended metaphor! Very Alice down the rabbit hole… dink… dink… … dink… splish.
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This, dear Jane,
is a wonderful concentration, a stripping bare, an undressing, and yet purity is left when all is said and done. Although this is art speaking of art, you are able to show minimalism and symbolism in both mediums excellently. Truths of experience can never be tied down and analysed let alone criticized for not being straitjacketed into , of all things in the C21 century, rhyme, form and meter.
Ron.
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Well the drugs seem to be doing some good. This is excellent.
xx
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Oh but that one white pebble sparkles brilliantly in my hand....i scooped it up before it fell into the well - ignored the dust though
Bravo on this,
galfalfa
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terribly beautiful
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Magnifique !!!!
I sit grinning ear to ear in love, yes in love with the fact that you chose "white". Oh mon petit cocotte de mot, je vous aime et adore ainsi !
Such is a lonely existance for those who look but do not see! Made even lonelier when it is only one sound they hear. But know that you have the ability to quench one's thirst while leaving them thirsting for more.
Wifey Pooh
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It has a finality to it that would have made Newton proud. We are all but dust in the wind.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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Thank you, thank you, thank you!
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Mistress of Metaphoric Dream.
Dear MomD,
You have done it AGAIN!! This dumb kiwi struggles but fails to grasp the intricacies. What does it MEAN?
No rhyme, no meter, obscure but beautifully worded
with a sort of hellfire image of emptiness and the echo of a distant splash.
Applause anyway, love and hugs, XXX Hugh.
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As always,
hugh,
from the time we met you and I have always wanted and been attracted to different things in poetry. You adore the concrete, I the fluid. You the factual, I the emotions. You fit the words to the form, I the form to the words. I ask a poem to start my mind and let me fly from there. You, clearly control where the mind should go.
Until the day I am ready to be confined and you are ready to let go we shall never agree totally as to what is great.
I again suggest to you... let go and allow these words to take you to a full bodied finger painting session and then come back and tell me where YOU went... not where I wanted you to go. -
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Dear Jane,
You are mostly correct in what you aver but, if you were to take the bold step of reading: http://allpoetry.com/poem/2625072
or my preceding post, you would find two examples of how
one can "let go and allow these words to take you to a full bodied finger painting session" without abandoning one's love of form, rhyme or meter. The combining of these poetic elements is, for me, the challenge of poesy.
Love and hugs, XXX Hugh. -
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Dear XXX
I'll be glad to.... AFTER I see you covered in a finger paint interpretation. You again resist trying this in any way but your own.
Was Brancusi not as much an artist as Rembrandt?
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AHHH! But did Rembrandt try to persuade Brancusi to paint in his style or technique?
"To each his own......" Finger painting and body painting are two separate art forms.
My recent finger painting exercise evidently upset someone who misunderstood its intent, so I deleted it with the result that certain Aussie friends are now deploring its loss. -
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No, but then Brancusi never TRIED to repaint Rembrandt to make it more his style either while screaming... look at me, look at me!
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I'm sure that somebody, somewhere said:
"To thine own self be true...."
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" white pebble in the well"
Love the image that pojects; very efffective!
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Three Holes in the Ground ... well, well, well
The pebble ripples cause and effect 'until the last syllable of recorded time' - yet the Phoenix may be [rem]embered as creating spare ribs from rib tide's dust ...
One hand clapping ... well
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I do so love that you keep me on my toes.
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