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Oats





Once we spoke of poetry,
of rhymes and other crimes
(real or imagined) – voices on the wind –
and we sinned in high blades of some soft grain,
grasping for words that never did exist.
We kissed. This bliss contained its own momentum,
alchemy attending us
as we shed our boots and coats
among the rustling oats.

Yet as I looked into her eyes,
I recognized
that she was looking through me to the sky.
Back then I wondered why,
but walked away.




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Comments


  • Griswold silver member
    August 16, 2008

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    Nicely written, I saw a contest "10001 reasons to write like Scott" Wondered if it meant me...gave a link to your page. Same name, same age, but you actually have fans it seems.


  • poetryality silver member
    August 15, 2008

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    You should not be so transparent dear friend. Never let them "look through you". It's a wonder she didn't go into convulsions. I mean...all the blood, guts, veins, oragns...you get the picture.

    I love the mood this poem spins. Maybe you should not have gone all the way, and left it at the "speaking of poetry" level. Sigh!

    Someday I'll be able to write like this. There is at least one chapter in these 87 words. Yup! I counted! LOL

    Great poetry, as always. Although, I missed Emily in this one.


    Much Love Always ♥

    Renee

  • eamarti
    August 11, 2008

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    Great work

    Loved this, like a breath of fresh air - as I scrolled through he Random section I am so releived to find your poem. Beautifully writen it so touched my heart. Loved the flow and phrasing - thanks for sharing.