This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-11-18 15:10:26 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
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Thirty Days Has September
Owing huge sums of green to everyone in the world
gave him a certain cachet and he defined himself
as a man with panache. Many people seemed to know
him well except his fey, fanciful wife. She was
blind to his faults: any conceit was sweet, his
poor taste erased. They seldom went out together
and their differences grew slowly, leech-like. He
became more remote and set her aside like a cup
of cold coffee and she wondered why men were so
stupid. She began to move her important things
to the enclosed patio: CD player, her computer,
a small half-bed, and piles and piles of books.
Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and
sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.
She imagined whirling it around her shoulders
like a cape then swirling its magic as a brave
matador might. He moved out two days later
and she attributed his retreat to her matador
stance: a fierce fighter, an Amazon who already
had cried him a river. She felt twitchy and on
edge when she left her patio...akin to living
in a small garden of flowers. Her lilacs by
the back gate were lush this year and she felt
happy and at peace and "peace comes dropping
slow...midnight's all a glimmer and noon a
purple glow." She smiled and bowed to the
cries and shouts from the crowd...Brava!Ole!
and Mr. IOU never knew
what he was missing!
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Copyright © November 2005 Mell W. Morris
Additional Notes:
The quote is from the poem,
"Lake Isle of Innisfree"
William Butler Yeats.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2005-12-03 08:48:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.60714
Hi Mell,
This made for a wonderful read and once again exhibits your unique and magnetic way with words. Poetry is a form of painting (I believe) and a difficult one at that...without the brushes, pallet, colors, etc. Words, words and more words is all there are. Still, as poets, we rise to the ocassion and transform our prime resource into oxygen for thought. The end result - a painting...as you have shown here. A picture that moves, talks, et all. We see the green dollars, the 'swath and sweep of stars', the movements of our lady matador and the escape of our her husband. We hear the cries of bravo.
Alliteration is one of my most favored poetic devices and I was thrilled to find consistent employment of the same in the piece - 'swath and sweep of stars (which, by the way, is great imagery; fey fanciful wife, matador might'.
Thanks for another gem and am looking forward to reading more.
Take care,
Duane.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-12-01 19:03:28
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.68571
Mell,
Who needs men? The likes of him.
Men just can't figure out where lies true value.
How stupid is that?
They think excitement/sex/fun is the thrill of love/not.
Sitting communing with the God of nature, is the filling of your spirits cup.
You learned this well, and he laerned of hell.[worldly things to buy]
Every month your poem surpasses all others.
It's full of love, life, values, and respect for yourself. Ole!
Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and
sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.
She imagined whirling it around her shoulders
like a cape then swirling its magic as a brave
{love this image....]
I send support for your every endeaver.
Love
Wadoh,
Dellena
This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-12-01 09:35:15
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.58537
April, june...and well , you know! Is this autobiographical?
A well written story as only you can write and in a format all your own (I've tried to write in that
format but am unsuccessful). I loved the line about the tea cup (bitter taste?). Men aren't stupid...we're just unimaginative sometimes. Yeah sometimes we don't know what we're missing, but hay, it takes two to do the passe doble. ARIBA!
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-11-29 18:12:08
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.97222
Mell, I am going to take me a ride down the river- along the path, and look for something I may have missed. The story is not unique, the tale is. The loss is not defined, but the gain is. The moment is not announced, but the next one is. Poignant, and a matter of consequence to the debtor, and the debtor. Instead of just sharing what I think you are saying, I am going to share my thoughts at such a powerful piece. I know the situation too well, and it brings back thoughts, of the good, and the bad.
This is a powerful verse, a powerful treatise on society and relationship, and a powerful representation of a watcher, determined to find his guilt.
In the beginning, you lead us to a self-centered man and an oblivious woman. Seems that the union was acceptable to both, and you point no blame. I did, however, notice that it was he who flashed money around till debt overcame- and somehow, knowing the give and take of marriage, that may have been a bit overstated. Maybe not, but then again, how would she know, she didn’t even know him as the watcher presumes?
Someone looking in noticed he was conceited, not her, that he had poor taste, not her, and you have placed on ignorance their growing apart, his and hers. In the second stanza you establish negative traits that he “embodied” and her only negative trait is she was daft. The value system established for this is unbalanced. The watcher, I believe, has chosen the value system by which it is all to be judged. I believe at this time she is the watcher, speaking after the fact.
There is a story in stanza three, where men become stupid in her eyes because “they” can no longer communicate, and “she” no longer sees the man he is. No doubt, the shift in her conscious behavior played readily into the “separation” of souls. Although the watcher believes her story to be told, I have my doubts that men suddenly became stupid, or that she suddenly became wise. You are doing a magnificent job of interpretation. The entire piece, this poem, is becoming a metaphor for the classic “he said/she said” dissolution of love, polarization of friends, and adorning oneself in whatever color glasses chose to be worn, ‘cept of course “rosey”.
Finally she succumbs to dreams, reality, beauty, and sees around her the things missing, those things precluded in the darkness of their relationship. And truly you have spoken well, for no relationship retains its magic when one or the other completely abandon the possibility. Maybe he, maybe she, but she found magic elsewhere. He was probably too stupid to do it.
Love the “matador stance”, the possibility of sweeping change, and his leaving- that was a given. No doubt the watcher is correct, the matador stance leaves no compromise, and at this point, no compromise was probably the correct question to post. She was first; his leaving posted his interrogative second. Either way, the correction was made. The only sad thing here is that later in this verse the watcher finds so little value in her friends lost lover, that for the watcher he falls off the face of the earth, dust to dust, … I guess, so it should be.
I love the “lilacs” by the back gate. Growing in the new dreams, growing in herself, and finally- finding a peace that had evaded her. That “purple” glow, that place within, herself, and she now, for the first time, likes herself. I came to that place, it is not a “woman” thing, and I know the look back at paths taken.
And indeed, you are correct, He never knew what he was missing, because one finds, after the fact, the person one grows to be, could have prevented the demise of what was.
Nevertheless, her happiness is the crown of her dreams.
I believe in dreams, and in those dreams, indeed… Bravo! Ole! And too bad he never saw what he would be missing because it didn’t exist. Too bad he never showed what she would be missing because it didn’t exist, always its too bad. I know this too well.
What an excellent piece, such a passionate, resonant meeting of past and future. As a watcher, I have enjoyed the ride.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Troy D Skroch On Date: 2005-11-26 23:44:44
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
MellO whose poetry is always delicious,
Happy Thanksgiving!!! I hope that you didn't get too "fluffy" after the feast. Sometimes
the "lure" of the table makes one a bit puffy. LOL! In Wisconsin we start our
Thanksgiving day by hunting the turkey. Yes, we all take off our shirts, smear cranberry
paste on our chests and breasts and take up our spears in search of the bearded bird. If we
fail to fill the roaster we just eat pumpkin pie and lick ourselves clean. And sometimes
each other. LOL! You didn’t know that about Wisconsinites!!
On to your poetry. Your titles always evoke me to thought. Like in this poem.
"September" for me is not the spring or the summer or even the fall. It is a month that
symbolizes a kind of neutral passage of season. I keep thinking that you use it in your title
to symbolize that time before the end of a relationship when things hang in the balance,
when people are repositioning their commitments before the "fall" and the "winter" of their
knowing each other. It is as much a “lost” month as it is one that foreshadows the coming
desolation of winter. Do you think that September is a male month? I kind of think of
April as being the female equivalent. Both of these months are kind of lost yet their
existence foreshadows or portents to a future. Hmmm.
to be anointed with spring’s perfumes
to be wrapped forever in summer’s tall grasses
to hold your hand in September’s doorway
rising to meet winter with a warm heart
and a lifetime of smiles
Did you know that if you frown at me while I’m standing on my head, I see you smiling
upside down? I’ve lived my life doing somersaults trying to see a person’s best side.
Your writing is bold. The emotion in your voice always lent strength by your word
choices. And they are clear. Visible and communicable. And there is your wonderful
attention to detail and carefully written double meanings.
I love the first line.
“Owing huge sums of green to everyone in the world....” This works so well with the title
for me. September is, just like April, a pay off month. There is a lot of pressure on
September to perform. In some ways it is the reward of spring and summer. Alas, it is
such a changeling month. I’m abscessing. I’m not sure what I’m talking about anymore.
Let’s move on.
Oh yes, we were discussing how well spoken you are! And your ability to say anything,
good or bad, clearly. I mean, look at this:
“...and set her aside like a cup of cold coffee....” What an analogy. Harsh!
Men are stupid. LOL! They spend so much of their lives having to be “right” that they
ware themselves out without accomplishing much of anything most times. The other day I
was looking at an older man, he looked like hell, while his wife was all alive and animated.
The poor guy probably wore himself out competing with his neighbor for a bigger “stake”
in it all. LOL!
Mell, you are a class A story teller as well. Your narratives always open strong and grab
the reader, bringing them to the stage to watch your tale unfold in a poetic fashion. This
next line was particularly gorgeous. Check yourself out!
“Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and
sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.”
How dramatic and romantic. And then you follow this with the “matador.”
Now if that isn’t symbolic of the protagonist’s strength. Being a “bull” I almost slunk
away towards the pasture gate when I read this. Actually, a terrible irony if the antagonist
is brought to be accountable.
Check this out. ”...matador might....” I love the way this both describes the decision
making process and is a descriptor for bravery and courage and strength. Neat. That is
just great writing. You have such a feel for words.
Leaving the flowers breaks my heart. The flowers for me here are symbolic for all of the
good things that were once a part of this relationship. Can we be further from the
flowered spring than the days of September?
Every good thing that I’ve ever did, was not decided by words, but by heart. And that’s
what I see in your writing.
Forever your Baby Poet,
T
Did I tell you that I’m taking my daughter to a professional production of the Nut Cracker
in a few weeks. She loves ballet, this will be a treat for her.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-11-26 14:42:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85000
One of my favorite poets, Yeats, though I prefer Browning even more.
Your poem slips in the end,
as if I'd just lost my footing
as I stepped from the warmth of the preceding shower.
If it were up for bidding to be published,
and it is most worthy of that,
I'd end it at the quote.
But I read between enough of the lines
to feel like I'm looking through the "blinds"
of the very temptress who dumped him!
Happy November (and its 30).
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terrye Godown On Date: 2005-11-25 17:00:46
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Of all I have read this month, this is my favorite Mell! I love the way it sweeps you up into the thoughts of the person who ispired this poem with each stanza. The way you describe the evolution of feelings here and the analogies "set her aside like a cup of cold coffee" and "their differences grew slowly, leech-like.". Here's a super one: "She imagined whirling it around her shoulders like a cape then swirling its magic as a brave matador might.""and then my favorite one: "an Amazon who already had cried him a river".
There are creative overtones of humor used to describe the evolution of thought processes in this "story" that is told with perfectly fitting structure.. the way each stanza ends, or rather leads to the following one connotes a feeling of time passing.. realizations, acceptance and wisdom are imparted inbetween the stanzas. The way the lines disconnect for a spell are an analogy in themselves. The subjects are slowly being disconnected also and so the structure is SO suitable here in defining a time line of events which the reader is expecting to unfold after reading the title.
I would not change this one a bit. I love the final sensation of celebrating freedom and peace in the last stanza. Your quotation was a perfect fit and a great lead in. This is GREAT Mell. It has all the right facets that it takes to make a piece terrific!
Cheerz,
Terrye
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2005-11-21 10:42:25
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.91667
In one of the silly little spats we so often have with others, I had pledged not to critique
unless specifically asked. Yet, I am not so certain, when one drops "specifically" I was not
asked.
By the time you have reached your last line, "and Mr. IOU never knew/what he was missing!" the
point is far more than well established. The exclamation mark kind of detracts from emphatic
understatement. Something, I've noticed, you are more than adequate to deliver.
Stupid?...we're worse than stupid, drooling adulation upon a slithery form draped seductively
around a pole just because "she" deigns to look our way. Senseless to what might be left at
home waiting to touch our soul with astounding discovery. Traces of that capacity are more
than apparent here.
Two things announce our cultural decline best, pedophiles now survive prison, and women now
follow after men's habits more.
Only when a man is privilaged to read a poem such as yours can he today be made aware fully
the sweetness of woman still persists. Probably, that is why only the most external aspects
of the female attribute are expressed today...almost solely, in the obsession to "reconstruct"
what nature and genetics have already given.
You have a gift for terse imagery. "their differences grew steadily more leech-like" is a
remarkable example of this. Though the simile, "set her aside like a cup of cold coffee" is
in keeping with this, I think leaving it at "set her aside like a cup" better serves that
terse style.
The imagery you build around your retreat is as inviting to the reader and as endearing to the
empathy you evoke from your reader as the character you display to resist bitterness. That,
alone, would make WBY proud to participate, I'm certain.
JCH
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2005-11-19 16:32:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell,
I am just so delighted to find this offering of yours this AM. I have to admit I all but languished over every word in this. It felt all to familiar in so many aspects.
3o days from start to finish, eh?
Owing huge sums of green to everyone in the world
gave him a certain cachet and he defined himself
as a man with panache. Many people seemed to know
him well except his fey, fanciful wife. [this man, so full of himself, thinking he is on the border of kingdom or a least the super elite is missing such a treasure in a wife who yes is fey and what others mind deem fanciful…she sees so far beyond the here]
She was
blind to his faults: any conceit was sweet, his
poor taste erased. They seldom went out together
and their differences grew slowly, leech-like. [yes, in love she blinded herself to his faults, his conceit she catered to and because of her love for him she paid no attention to his poor taste…shoot Mell I sound like I’m re-writing your poem in just different words.]
The long and short of this, is with time all people tend to drift, grow in different ways so often with one not even cognizant of the growth going on with their partner or perhaps it is just that she is coming into her own, finding her own strengths, her own person, true self awareness. Yes and he “green to everyone” is actually jealous of everyone—perhaps that is why he puts on his show, his conceit and pride will not allow him to own up to his short comings. She is the purple lady (lilacs/ purple glow) is definitely a celestial/spiritual lady, one who is so much more than what most perceive. Our heroine physically separates herself from him not realizing that she had already mentally/spiritually separated from him sometime before..the reality of this is in it appears she is not surprised that he moved out in two days after she’d taken her stance.
She is now comfortable with herself and does not wish to move back into who she was…( She felt twitchy and on edge when she left her patio) nice that her peers give her approval however she really doesn’t need it, “peace comes dropping slow”, she is grounded, at peace with herself. This is so much more than the few points I’ve hit on…so in depth, almost as if looking in a mirror. Everything is a lesson, some take the lessons in stride while others rale at them. I’ve always felt things are as they are suppose to be even when it doesn’t make sense, but all is as it should be. The secret is, they’ve (she and he) have done this dance many times before albeit necessarily in our here and now. We only overlook what we want to, selective blindness until some thread causes us to re-evaluate why we have closed our eyes. Yes, I salute our heroine and you, her for walking the path she has and you for being you… osiyu visvi
Warmest always
Lora
This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-11-19 11:56:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Mell,
I have a sense that the the protagonist here is you, of course I could be all wrong about that! I was captivated with this story, with its rich words and the way it flows from one line to the next with ease....'set her aside like a cup of cold coffee' is a perfect description of the neglected wife. It is such a sad state of affairs when a marriage is no longer viable and becomes something so stale that it is difficult to endure. It seems that is what happened here.
Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and..........I love this stanza...swath of stars is wonderful!
sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.
She imagined whirling it around her shoulders..........you have packed so many images into these lines
like a cape then swirling its magic as a brave
'She smiled and bowed to the cries and shouts from the crowd'...makes me think our heroin finally did the thing her family was hoping she would do...and that was dump the awful jerk! When I married Dale he and I had nothing in common but we worked at it and made the necessary consessions...which in the early years were all mine. As he lay dying he said many things to me but the one thing that made me smile was..."Honey I always knew you were boss!" And I thought I was doing a fine job of concealing that! However, some marriages are set to fail from the get go and it seems the one you write about here falls into that category.
As usual, you have written another fine piece which I enjoyed immensely.....the content is sad because it is about the death of a marriage but the writing is suberb!
Blessings...Marilyn
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2005-11-19 05:53:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.10714
Hi Mell
An object lesson for women ... as if they needed another ... of how much of the world awaits them when they become disentangled (by "accident" or by design) from the puerile man upon whom they have wasted so much of their love and their life. A man who, into the bargain, is intimidated by his partner's qualities, her gusto for reaching out to and embracing life.
Need more be said? I think not. Men are the big losers, in life as well as here. Pity the man so entrenched within himself as to overlook her, hail to the woman who finds herself to be complete unto herself.
And kudos to the author.
Warmly,
Mark.
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-11-18 22:20:59
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear MellO- Génie Pourpre de la Poésie
Vividly, and tastefully you’ve given us a portrait of an admirable
woman, and a sour-ass of a man. The ‘green’ man and the purple
lady, alas destined to clash. Your euphonious (there are certain
words in this language which I believe need to be footnoted in
the dictionary as belonging to you, and you alone) creation has
woven a spell in which we see the Green Man who believes
himself to be a Deity-in-the-making making off without the
Princess of Purple. He is cashless, clueless, and conceited.
But at one time, undoubtedly, he was her Prince, or at least
a frog with the potential to be one! That his wife was ‘fey’
makes me think of the magical, the Irish, the supernatural,
the clairvoyant. But she was not clear-seeing at the moment
of falling-in-love with him, of the remote, cold-coffee setting
aside gestures. Pleasing, melodious sounds – “cachet/panache”
and “fey/fanciful/wife” – belie the less than “sweet/conceit”
aftertaste of this ex-mate with “his poor taste erased.” He has
not been completely erased, I suspect, but continues to believe
his own conceit. And then, on the other hand, this could also
be the story of another or others of whom the writer is aware.
They seldom went out together
and their differences grew slowly, leech-like.
Perhaps it is also a cautionary tale, for those who are yet drifting
but not completely riven.
Because many marriages devolve with these differences
noted above, and like the leech, swell with something
taken from the lifeblood of another, and become monstrous.
The sound of ‘leech’ almost creeps up my cheek and makes
me shudder! It recalls a swimming summer in my teens when,
oh, indescribable orfulness.
She began to move her important things
to the enclosed patio: CD player, her computer,
a small half-bed, and piles and piles of books.
This is, without the technical enhancements, almost the
picture of a Victorian lady, or of the late Czarina, Alix,
apart from her preoccupied Nicky. In her purple bedroom,
she slept alone on a chaise, I think, and wrote and read in
endless wait. In this instance, the heroine is better able to
comfort herself with her own enchantment. That she
is enchanted “in the swath and sweep of stars” makes
me think of someone I know well, but I divagate. (I
am purloining your words this evening, Enchantress!)
That she is a ‘matador/Amazon’ who also “cried him
a river” makes me smile, though sadly. OK, then I lied,
because I remember Ella Fitzgerald’s “Cry Me a River”
--and it’s too true.
“Well you can cry me a river,
Cry me a river, I cried a river over you.”
She felt twitchy and on
edge when she left her patio...akin to living
in a small garden of flowers. Her lilacs by
the back gate were lush this year and she felt
happy and at peace and "peace comes dropping
slow...midnight's all a glimmer and noon a
purple glow." She smiled and bowed to the
cries and shouts from the crowd...Brava!Ole!
and Mr. IOU never knew
what he was missing!
The Yeats passage is so well-suited to this poem. It is rich with irony
(An Amazon who cried a river) and MellO droll humor juxtaposed with
purple pathos, but we never see self-pity in our lovely dweller amongst
lilacs. The debtor never realized that he left the only reward worth having
in life – the one who loved him! – for the false prize of his false pride. I
devoured the poem from start to finish. And you must know, as I am sure
you do, that if the shoe fits, it fits. And it might fit many afoot.
Your poems surprise and delight me without fail. This, no exception!
These comments do not do justice to the impact of this poem for me.
Brava!
With love,
LL Em
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2005-11-18 18:39:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell, although it seems impossible for you to outdo your previous efforts ... you've just managed! And I so loved last month's poem. But this one is very special. You have me from the get-go with that euphonious pairing - cachet/panache - and I recognize the character type also. My mother once knew a local businessman who used to swear he wanted to die a million dollars in debt, I suppose because it would prove he knew how to live in style (whether he did die insolvent, I never found out). Your Mr. Big Guy reminds me of my mother's old friend.
You fool us because at first, we figure the poem is going to be about him, but then it shifts to the "fey wife" and so do our sympathies. "Many people seemed to know him well" suggests, at first, a poor misunderstood husband. But ah, wait! We soon learn that the wife endures much, out of her own generosity of spirit: "blind to his faults: any conceit was sweet, his/poor taste erased." The internal rhyme has zing, and the woman herself sounds almost sappy with adoration (but only in the beginning). We soon figure out it's becoming exactly the opposite. " They seldom went out together/and their differences grew slowly, leech-like." Comparison to a leech refers to both the subtle progress of their division, and, IMO, to the draining effect of the hubby's selfishness. NOT flattering to him; I mean, what's another word for leech? Sucker!!
"He/became more remote and set her aside like a cup/of cold coffee" -- wow, what a biting commentary on his failings!! The harshness of hard-c snaps at the reader's ear. This is not a pleasant sort of personality, after all. We now move toward the wife's corner. She gets squeezed out of physical space and boxed into a smaller area, but at least the important things go with her, and they represent imagination, thought, creativity, rather than wealth. Her spouse surrounds himself materially; she prefers the company of books and music. Her link to humanity isn't the love of a good man, but the pages of literature, and a computer which helps her reach out to those who will treasure what she has to offer.
Enchanted, she found comfort in the swath and
sweep of stars which she watched endlessly.
She imagined whirling it around her shoulders
like a cape then swirling its magic as a brave
matador might.
This is my favorite passage, although the whole poem is a delight. Wonderful sonic elements - swath and sweep of stars is "to die for" - combine with the arresting image of that whirling stellar cape, to provide a superlative portrayal of this gifted lady. I'm also stuck with the odd idea (or maybe not so odd) that this has personal relevance to the author. It sure does for me, at any rate!
He moved out two days later
and she attributed his retreat to her matador
stance: a fierce fighter, an Amazon who already
had cried him a river.
The wordplay on Amazon/cried him a river is just too funny!!! The poet reveals a quick wit; the woman being described is clearly blessed with a keen (and cynical) sense of humor, too. The "bull-y" has been bested by the matador(ette) and her whirl of stars. It's worth noting that, although she is the one who takes her stuff to the patio, he's the party who moves away entirely. She has given him room to breathe but he wants more than this. So he gets enough rope to hang himself, so to speak. In the end, this is HIS choice. She isn't forcing him out. She isn't even certain she'll be happy back in the house.
She felt twitchy and on
edge when she left her patio...akin to living
in a small garden of flowers. Her lilacs by
the back gate were lush this year and she felt
happy and at peace and [as] "peace comes dropping [maybe change that one "and" to "as"?]
slow...midnight's all a glimmer and noon a
purple glow."
Wonderful use of the Yeats allusion! The real lilacs so easily connect to Yeats's Innisfree isle and, indeed, here is a woman in her own sort of island, set apart from an unresponsive mate and a world that has somehow failed to recognize her. Purple is her color, as it belongs to so many with the Muse in their souls, and lyricism in their auras. It is also the hue of lilacs and certain irises, mauve and VanGogh blue. I bet she would also cultivate those flowers in a later season!
She smiled and bowed to the
cries and shouts from the crowd...Brava!Ole!
and Mr. IOU never knew
what he was missing!
The ending is quietly humorous. The applause of the masses (whether or not they're actually present) implies that she is now in control of her own fate, and feels encouraged by her new freedom. "Mr. IOU" exits still owing -- but he is in debt to others, those who couldn't care less about him, whereas the only one who really loved him is obligation-free at last. He can't miss her because he's never really valued her. So he loses twice -- in retrospect, and in his present/future life. So "what he was missing" is the greatest irony of all.
Aaaanyhow, I think this is splendid and, heh, please note that I actually got to critique it EARLY!!! Of course, that's because it's new and freshly-posted on my list. How lucky is that??!
I hope you're well and will be writing more for us to enjoy. Your poems are like picking out the dark-chocolate truffles to savor, both for their rarity and their delectable taste. This one is especially delicious.
Take Care,
Brenda
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