I am not sure whether this is a poem or a philosophical statement, it matters not because works in both ways. It reminded me of something, we were told in a religious instruction lesson that sums up your verse: Faith begins where knowledge ends. In my opinion, you are to be commended.
Your verse took me back, I used to work in an aircraft operations room, where we had to write all the information on the Perspex screen, but in reverse, so that all the operators on the other side of the screen could read the information correctly.
Congratulations, I have often tried to write in this format but I never even considered the verse format, it is with the presence of a green-eyed filter that I post this response
I like this short poem, whereas it is overtly spiritual, the content can be read with a secular filter without taking away the heart of the verse, a difficult task for which the author should be congratulated.
Very interesting, especially for lovers of this true pure sport. Purely for the spread of the game, I#d love to see a tier 2 country do wee, even win the next T20 World Cup.
Reminds me of a time. Some 40 years ago when I and group friends played with an Ouija board, we were all avid users of and believers in tarot cards. Nonetheless, we were sceptical of an upturned glass pointing out letters arranged around a board. The session was meant to last, about an hour, I can’t remember what was ‘said’ but sleepless nights were had by several of the participants. I’m not suggesting those events were connected; that’s for you to decide!
Heartbreaking but honest, should resonate with anyone who has experienced the profound isolation that homelessness brings with it. This poem deserves a much wider audience.
Quite refreshing to read what is virtually a prayer without being overtly religious. In my opinion, this could be recited in a Church, Mosque, Synagogue or Temple with little or no rewriting. A pleasant verse that I could keep with me as an aide memoir for personal reflection.
This is not my kind of poetry; however, you must be congratulated for even attempting this verse. Although this is not my kind of verse, it means it must be to somebody else’s taste, I hope you can take this as constructive criticism because I believe nobody should be put off expressing themselves in votes. I hope you continue writing, just because It’s not my kind of rhyming style does not mean it has no validity, hence I have no hesitation in rewarding your efforts with the attached gift points
More philosophy than poetry, but then were not the Poets of ancient Greece amongst the greatest philosophers? This short verse conjures up much deep thinking well worth the time it takes to read to set off trains of subconscious thought.
I enjoyed this short ode to the end of life, not an easy subject to tackle in so few lines yet this author has achieved this with understated elegance.
Your poem brought tears to my eye, not tears of pity but of remembrance; you could have been writing about my late mother, or those of many others I am sure. I found the whole verse touching, especially when you came to the latter stages of both the poem and her life. I too remember when my mother, also a seamstress in her day, was forced to put away her needles yet still struggled till her joints finally ceased. I commend the author for encapsulating the life of one mother, yet refecting the lives of many.
Short, yet thought provoking rhyme, most of us have had to clear paths, roads and carefully tended lawns of the natural detritus of surrounding trees. We spend man hours in late winter and early spring preparing the ground and sewing seeds to enjoy the colourful display of Summer with the hope and expectation of a bountiful harvest.
Sometimes the harvest is, at best, disappointing, but look closer at the Shredded and scattered leaves then using the imagination we had as children, conjuring patterns and shapes in the hearth of a well made fire and we will see mythical beasts hiding in plain sight.
This ode to the hippopotamus puts me in mind of the classic ‘Flanders and Swann’ song "Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud". Although an old British Music Hall act, not bad company to be in. If you are unfamiliar with this duos' work, I suggest you look them up.
I think you have encapsulated how many of us feel when we sit down at our desks or keyboards full of great ideas and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, as is often the case, in those few seconds between sitting down and raising your pen the spark of inspiration dissipated leaving your mind bereft of ideas. What makes things worse is that this sequence of events happens so often, but persevere. One day in exactly the same thing will happen but when everything seems lost that spark of inspiration ignites your imagination and as your thoughts control your digits, you effortlessly produce your masterpiece, why, because you weren’t constrained by rigid outlines instead you write from the heart.
The unending jumble of ideas morph into the congruent prose you’ve longed for.
I enjoyed the piece, it reminded me of my own failings and triumphs.
A short succinct and moving tribute, to an obviously much loved, and missed parent. My own father died in 2005 and being a man I felt that showing emotion proved weakness; nothing could be further from the truth. Your piece but short shied away from over sentimentality, which was to your credit and made a short piece have a much broader effect, an easy read nonetheless powerful in its message, the love only child can show for its parent.
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