working draft ... politics of desperation
Politics of Desperation
What we cannot do now is imagine
any other way.
*
Soft gurgles of three cowbirds
over the fence line.
Shadows in elm & spruce & oak.
Mist along the river stones.
Salt-spill on the table
and windows mapped with prints.
The tiniest thread of winter,
a gift, in mid-summer sky.
accepted at MiPOesias, 7/28
8 comments:
~now this is outstanding...can't wait to see it done..if it is only a draft....the stillness...and impending doom....gave me shudders~~
write-on~
Like this Sam -- especially that last line with winter in the distance. Really good.
I Like this a lot, Sam, like how the images build up the atmosphere for the last line.
Beautiful. This is your real voice, it seems to me, attention to the things of the world and their words to push back against whatever would blur the distinctions....
The other posts are right --- this comes to rest perfectly in looking at the sky and finding the promise of winter. A thread, not the threat that almost rises into consciousness, in these bad days when so many people are keeping an eye on the sky for bombs, etc.
Thanks to all for the comments. I do appreciate them.
I'm a little behind, but I think this evocative espresso shot is really onto something. The title does what a great title should: pulls a person in.
I'm visiting your blog and like what I see -- also, I can't help but notice Turtle Island in your profile -- you don't know Mr. Conway, do you?
I like the idea of the espresso. Thanks for the comment Melanie.
--Turtle Island as in Native American stories of the land.
Ok, the archetype of Turtle Island, not the modern-day retreat from the crazy world :)
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