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Post by leecrowell on Apr 24, 2010 21:46:44 GMT -5
the first time I had no eyeballs just empty sockets but I could sense the glow of galaxies against my cheek and lust for imaginable beauty like no one before me
the third time I was born the second son into a large family we worked fields and ate ham hocks for dinner at night we footstomped in the barn Dad let us steal moonshine from his jug
the last time was under an eclipse I never met my parents until I was larger than both of them by the collar I lifted one from the floor and with a blade to his throat I screamed 'mother you will never see this man breathe again unless you leave me be' the lack of remorse was complemented by the harshness of unwavering arctic air
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Post by Ivan Carswell on Apr 24, 2010 21:57:25 GMT -5
there is a cosmic message here, it says, like, when I'm this shade - don't mess with movement of the spheres...! Perhaps the last line might ring a mite smoother either as: 'of unwavering arctic air', or, 'of a mass of unwavering arctic air'
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Post by leecrowell on Apr 25, 2010 5:49:34 GMT -5
'arctic air mass' is a term used commonly in broadcast media by weather meterologists, and I don't even like those guys what the hell was I thinking? thanks for pointing me in a better direction Ivan
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Post by Dunstan Attard on Apr 25, 2010 16:14:17 GMT -5
ah this write rings superb in the passages of my being...
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Post by Ivan Carswell on Apr 26, 2010 7:48:44 GMT -5
Damn, Dunstan cut me off at the pass! No problem with the poem, powerfully singular and on the money. I'll have another Tequila to placate my wounded dissonance (I was caught between States at the time, returning from NSW to QLD)! Regardless Lee, a quality poem...
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Post by leecrowell on Apr 27, 2010 13:43:25 GMT -5
Dunstan, Ivan, I'm glad you both enjoyed this. Coming from two excellent poets, your acknowledgments encourage me to write more.
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