This Poem was Submitted By: Marcia L McCaslin On Date: 2014-11-07 13:57:37 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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November Pea

The love for growing things was imprinted in the DNA of certain ancestors and passed down to us, irrevocable and indestructible, regardless of the degrees in Journalism or Engineering or Foreign Relations we may hold. With that gene, burning its way into our cells, we are drawn to the mystery of the soil, and with eyes that see far beyond their natural ability, we find that little green tip of a determined late pea looking up at us, with wonder. That little pea, planted too late, is just as determined to achieve his purpose against all odds as we have been to achieve ours. And when we have sized- each-other-up, we know, with joy, we have each had our chance to see the stars.

Copyright © November 2014 Marcia L McCaslin

This Poem was Critiqued By: Medard Louis Lefevre Jr. On Date: 2014-11-15 06:28:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Wonderful and beautiful. A style that I can relate to. No technique comments, because I do not know technique. I just know that I liked this writing and being mostly scientifically trained with the wonder of creation, I greatly admire your presentation. Thanks! Medard

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2014-11-13 12:25:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Marcia, an interesting piece of prose that hides it intentions well. The indices you use, that of a predisposition towards cultivation is an interesting assessment. Granting it a superior standing to the common problems of the world is an alternate assessment, aside from the dna involved. To anthropomorphize the actual result; the pea- takes a cartoonish turn in the story. That there is victory in the cultivation, and in the growth (there is no doubt of the genetic need of plants to reach for greater life), and that the cultivation, later than usual, adds a level of drama and resolution. It also leads me to presume (possibly inaccurately) of the metaphor for having children late in life; idiom notwithstanding. Joy, a very uncommon thing now-a-days. Seeing the stars, creation if you will, in the entire effort, or late in time fulfillment, a fine result from a caricature of living. Thank You
This Poem was Critiqued By: Joe Gustin On Date: 2014-11-08 10:59:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Did the little pea make it? The true test of any write is whether or not the story or poem reaches the reader and of course this work makes me worry about the pea. Like I often worry about pre mature babies this pea planted to late with frost coming at any moment. I was raised in farm country but I don't think a farmer's gene in my blood. But I know those who do and its like you say sight beyond vision, knowing without books. For me the last line is so beautiful We have all had our chance to see the stars. wow.
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