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This Poem was Submitted By: Mell W. Morris On Date: 2005-09-22 19:47:39 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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With Leaves Stirring

Atop my high-stepping mare, we ride down the canyon to watch the sun sink in glory. The same old story? Not when it is a scene that eludes an artist's brush, A panorama of southwestern colors that change fom cumin, orange, then euclase. Sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades which Bespeak desert. The majestic wind, rising from no specific place, uplifts the faces of alder trees with labile leaves. A profusion of grasses waves, trembling by the surprise Of their unmaking. These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere. Then utterly Focussed, scattering chips of granite to praise these views of time and place.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Latorial D. Faison On Date: 2005-10-07 21:40:47
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.96000
This is some nice word play and wonderful descriptions you have. I think its great when writers can illustrate true beauty through words. I rarely do that. Watching the sun sink in glory is a beautiful thought, and you end the poem with another great thought . . . praising the views of time and place. There's so much true beauty in nature, and you have captured a still shot of a glorious moment, and because you've written it poetically, we can all share. Great job. Latorial www.latorialfaison.com

This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2005-10-07 06:45:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell, this hasn't shown up on my list, ever, so I finally said the heck with it and hauled it off the Standings, where it justifiably occupies a high position. The theme greatly appeals to me, especially with the "high-stepping mare" as my hook in L1. Internal rhyme of "glory/story" reveals your usual attention to sonics. The line break after "sink" implies endings as well as the larger wonder of a sunset -- but the major impression is sensory. If the scene "eludes and artist's brush", it can't be reproduced visually; poets, however, lack the constraint of a palette and paint. We work within the imagination; our eyes are within, and can generate internal landscapes. I'd say that yours has been effectively conveyed and shared. The artist may fail; the poet does not. A panorama of southwestern colors that change fom cumin, orange, then euclase. Isn't "euclase" the most amazing word? There's a type of rock called "orthoclase" and I've always loved that one, too. The "u" assonance with "cumin" is delectable. Sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades ... More assonance -- long a (euclase/sage/shades) -- and further layering of the vivid colors. The "hints of earth tones" inject a deeper background, the mortal shadow within the brilliant light. If there is sky, there must also be desert, earth's bare skin. The majestic wind, rising from no specific place, uplifts the faces of alder trees with labile leaves. Here we have another long-a combination (to be continued with "wave") and internal rhyme with place/faces. The wonderful sound of "alder/labile leaves" and the very word "labile" is what makes poetry into art!! The uplifted leaf-faces seem almost animistic, as if they have an indwelling consciousness that seeks a higher purpose. We don't have alder trees here; the name is reserved for a "garbage bush" that takes over cleared land and frustrates attempts to remove it. I would love to see these trees as I understand they're much more beautiful. ... A profusion of grasses waves, trembling by the surprise Of their unmaking. Intriguing metaphor here; "unmaking" possesses a connotation of being cut down, harvested. Like all things living, in fact. "Trembling" restates the leaves' movement, and even the human approach to darkness. "Surprise" would be our immediate response, as well. We know we're fragile, grass and dust, yet we bravely endure and greet each pass of the sun because we accept our places in the cycle. These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere. "Waver" echoes the trembling idea, and the dissipating heat of the day. Yet the effect is the opposite, a sort of sealing-up-all-in-rest process. The speaker seems to long for that "life without desires", quiet as the distant prairie where she rides unseen. At the heart of enlightenment is that very stillness. I love your paradoxical "its own distance from nowhere". This could apply to the soul, IMO, and even to its ultimate destiny. There is no chart for that secret country of the spirit. .. Then utterly Focussed, scattering chips of granite to praise these views of time and place. Here, the stones appear to become disturbed and forced to move; we know it's really the mare's hooves that dislodge the granite chips, but it's as if matter has been transformed to energy, inertia to sudden action. Out of the focussed contemplation arises animation. Is this a metaphor for the awakening of something more human? The inclusion of "praise" suggests awareness, and exaltation. The very stones cry out their alleluias. There's a structural element of the poem that would lend itself very well to sonnet form if you were ever to feel experimental about it. I do this sometimes (work with free verse and form and end up with two versions of a single piece) when I write something that offers a variety of strong images. This is superbly written and a banquet for the heart and the senses. Beneath the imagery lies another dimension, there for our uncovering. This makes it particularly special for the reader who looks for more than surface appeal; it enlarges the poem's impact and makes it one that will last. You're in my thoughts and prayers. Brenda

This Poem was Critiqued By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2005-10-06 20:39:45
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Mello- How's the creaking neck? We're ropin' rain and girding for the white cover. Like to see your stuff in print. Granite Kinda Guy

This Poem was Critiqued By: Rick Barnes On Date: 2005-10-03 08:57:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Mell, What wonderful brushstrokes you apply from your linguistic palette. It may allude the artists brush but it has not escaped your able pen. Absolutely beautiful. Rick

This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2005-10-02 12:59:56
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell, there is a part of me that only kept critiquing to get to your piece. Each time I would return it was spirited away, obviously a popular piece/or person, maybe one and the same. With Leaves Stirring – the very moment of your title, you grant us a view of the life within it. Atop my high-stepping mare, we ride down the canyon to watch the sun sink in glory. – I wonder what canyon, and wish I was on a horse riding it with you. Later as your descriptives kick in, I feel that I am. I prefer a “non high-stepping mare” - :), I am not particularly good with horses because I have never had an opportunity to become accustomed to their gait. For those ride regularly, I am an amusing anecdote of a city slicker, but I do try. The same old story? Not when it is a scene that eludes an artist's brush, - I like the thought of beauty so expansive, so intense, so cumulative that an artist cannot capture it. It is like the words of a poet, what the poet can paint, and artist can only give the partials of. A panorama of southwestern colors that change from cumin, orange, then euclase. Sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades which Bespeak desert. – I couldn’t break up these lines, the desert has its character hidden in its inhabitants, but wears its adornment in a vibrancy of colors that more fruitful areas would only envy. “Cumin/orange, are beautiful pictures, and the euclase, like primal kryptonite, amidst “purple-blue tints”, and we get from you and understanding of the vitality of it all. How amazing is this stanza, setting us up for beauty unseen, for the seen. The majestic wind, rising from no specific place, uplifts the faces of alder trees with labile leaves. A profusion of grasses waves, trembling by the surprise Of their unmaking. – the desert wind, whether Santa Anna’s, Maria, haboob, whether Kalahari or Gobi, the winds take and make the moment their own. The transcendence and sculpting abilities are renown, as are their deadly possibilities. “The Alder Trees” and grasses are accustomed to the winds, and would be lost without them I think. Many places of heated air with Alder trees are considered arid but not desert, and either way, the “high desert” maintains the winds. These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere. – I have left a place, and come back ten years later, seeing only a little cosmetic work, but twenty years later noticing the handiwork of the handyman. Your colorful canvas brings alive those places of such “stark” beauty that many miss the miracle. Then utterly Focused, scattering chips of granite to praise these views of time and place. – I think if I believed in a strict deity, such scenes as this would cause me to worship. I wonder what peoples past have thought, or were they so engrossed within the beauty that it was seldom apparent to them. It is easy to see how religion and worship develops, but also, the patterns of magnificence built into the sage background. A beautiful piece Mell, makes me remember many things, worth remembering.

This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2005-10-01 11:58:00
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.64516
Mell, I decided to start at the bottom this time and how glad I am. Your descriptive qualities is magnificent and brings to sight and senses the things you are seeing. To be able to ride upon a horse and see and feel all that must be exhilerating. I am allergic to horses so I must take my cues from someone as yourself. Good quadrains leading to a literal ending.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2005-09-30 22:28:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell-O, I think we read poems and interpret them against the backdrop of our own writing. Since I've been writing more with my head now - paying a lot of attention to puns, even using the orthography of words, words within words, that sort of thing, e.g. "grown" and "own" - I'm coming to appreciate your "heady" poetry more. I used to aim at an elusive, ephemeral music, one that has little to do with conscious craft - though that always was attended to in rewrites and sharpenings - and would not feel moved by poetry that didn't spring from the same intuitive source. Well, we all grow, and, thank God, I'm growing and maturing. Anyway, now that I am flirting with a more rational, cerebral, and classical (Alexander Popian) type of muse, I can see the virtues in your poetry that were always there, but I was blind to. This is very solid, satisfying, and wonderfully cobbled from stones the Lord threw up, which ended up in our minds. Now that I am moving out of my shadow world into the world of light, I can see what I've been missing. I just love "scattering chips of granite." I could say that over and over all day long. Missing your presence, as most everyone else around here. Mark

This Poem was Critiqued By: Gerard A Geiger On Date: 2005-09-28 09:06:32
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.89474
Dear Mell; A beautiful descriptive work..extolling the elegant vibrant elements of desert flora..and the hidden strength of its foundation for life...the granite which provides its bejewelled spark.. intermittent...yet always there...accents for its sublime majesty. I particularly like: A profusion of grasses waves, trembling by the surprise Of their unmaking. and: These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere. very nicely done. I feel like I've been there.... time for a raspberry Snapple... after all, we are talking desert, right? Always your friend, Mell Gerard

This Poem was Critiqued By: Troy D Skroch On Date: 2005-09-27 21:20:34
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Mell, I saw this at the bottom of my list and thought, that's just wrong, it should be at the top!! Let's not waste words talking about how you do what you do. It's better to say, "you write so well!" Hat on or off, your talent for descriptive narrative comes across beautifully in this poem. Wow! Your first word "Atop," starts the poem out with an allusion to action or movement. It's just so much better than "the," for example. LOL! I remember a poem you started with "Comes a wind...." I will never forget that. I can honestly say that you have taught this writer / reader a lesson. I will never start a poem with "the" again. LOL! "Atop my high-stepping mare, we ride...." I feel like I'm part of the "we" here and am immediately drawn into the lines that take me to a sunset that is so amazing that it "eludes an artist's brush" In the Grand Canyon I sat on Yuma Point watching the sun set one night. I've never had words to describe it until I read this poem. "A panorama of southwestern colors that change fom cumin, orange, then euclase. Sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades which Bespeak desert." The whole stanza is just stunning and exact, ending with, "shades which Bespeak desert." Is there anything more beautiful than a sunset in canyon country? I've seen the sun set on every coast and a few different countries, but the sunset on the already colorful, shadowed, canyon lands with the banding of the cliff faces is sacred. When I hike the Grand Canyon again next year, I'm going to take your poem with me and read it to Osiris, Shiva, Set and other rock formations named for the gods. I will take it to a sacred place. Love ya MellO, take care, Troy

This Poem was Critiqued By: Joanne M Uppendahl On Date: 2005-09-26 15:13:26
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
M’elision I’ve only just discovered this bounteous boot, a cache of jeweled words at the bottom of my list. I’ve been wandering between the boundaries of Oregon and Washington, training up and down by the waters. I missed this until now! Your title offers the sensation of susurration most pleasurable. As always I know that there will be more than euphonious words, but music and food for my soul. You take me out of the present into no-time. Where all is infinitely possible, to smell the sage with you, to see colors offer readers, synesthesia, one of your greatest gifts of description. I’m on the mare, and wondering what’s making her step high, as when my mount did this, sometimes he was stepping over an offering left by a previous steed. But we are headed down the canyon, and you do not show us the same “old story” but present a vision to behold with freshened eyes. A word-treasure, ‘euclase’ of green or blue crystalline hue from your artist’s pen. I love the sound, the Mell-tone of “bespeak desert.” It is the voice I long to hear. A wind which arises “from no specific place” lends itself to height and depth of imagination’s realm. It is almost ghostly. As wind is often synonymous with spirit, I think that this poem hints at that realm rather strongly, but gently. I love the uplifted faces of the alder trees, especially with their “labile leaves” and the slight association this has with sensuous femininity. The Earth, or Gaia, is ever a feminine entity in this reader’s mind, and as portrayed by your perceptive soul and intelligence. The grasses seem to quiver with Eros in contrast to the stones, which appear to be lacking in desire. But then, the surprise – your poem always contain them – “utterly focused” the chips of granite which scatter offer their song of praise. My associations with granite are of granite gravestones, beautiful granite river stones, and granite enamelware. The hard beauty brought to life here is tenderly explosive, IMO. Grass when it waves, personified with the emotion of surprised, perhaps inspirited by the wind, along with the scattered chips of granite which offer praise for views nonpareil. You gift us with this vision in your trademark delicate yet incisive linguistry. A rare and lovely find, Mellimatia. A gift as vivid and gentle as its creator. Thank you for the pleasurable read and for inspiration, once more. Amethysts, smoky quartz and rose crystals in a basket woven by Mary Kiona for you. Always with love, LL Emeritus

This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2005-09-24 11:50:40
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.88462
Mell–-Once again TPLers are treated to a savory of picturesque images spilling from your silver-syllabled-pen. Initially,this reader marveled at the ease with which scribe places us/me/com- panion in the saddle riding double to view such an awesome sight; “Atop my high-stepping mare, we ride down the canyon to watch the sun sink in glory.” Then I found myself going “WOW” as I read the subsequent enjamb- ing strophes,coming across a combination of unique/brilliant hues (cumin/orange/euclase/sage/purple-blue tints) and some excellent ‘subtle’ interior rimes (glory/story; hints/tints;place/faces; trees/leaves). Grudgingly, my need to offer a denouement lead me to select the piece overall theme (IMO) which is also contained in my favorite stanza; “...These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere. Then utterly Focused, scattering chips of granite to praise these views of time and place.” This vivid imagery depict scenes from what is un-mistakenly Utopia and is proof positive that in your absence you continued to write which is always a plus for TPLers. Thanks for sharing this Mellodian effort-smile. TLW

This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2005-09-23 19:48:54
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.88235
Mell, How nice. You painted with your word brush a quiet, southwest, desert with all it's earthen colors. I actually think stones are a form of life. Thats why I ask it's permission to pick it up and take it from it's home in the mountains. Stones and mountains sing. Thats where our music is from. According to mathmatical cosmologist Brian Swimme. Mountains dance across the earth moving slowly to the rhythm of this planet. [Mother Earth] these views of time and place are nice. You praise the earth and it's glory........so wonderfully. I love the view from you. Titles nice... I tend to not think of trees in the desert.....but they are around. I'd love to ride beside you on your steed. Giddyup.. Hugs Dellena

This Poem was Critiqued By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2005-09-23 14:49:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Dear Mell, What a treat to see a poem from you today! When I read...'atop my high-stepping mare' I knew I was in for a treat....'the same oldd story? Not when it is a scene that eludes an artist's brush'...nothing in nature is commonplace..maybe that is why I write about it so often. You have used some amazing colors to paint this lovely picture...cumin, orange...sage with its purple-blue tints arriving with hints of earth tones, shades which bespeak (love this word) desert. 'The majestic winds, rising from no specific place...is great notion...as is uplifts the faces of alder trees with labile leaves...your ability to put me into this scene and see what you see as you write the words is just another example of your gift as a writer. Sometimes when I read a poem I just see the words but you actually place me inside the scene....'a profusion of grasses waves, trembling by the suprise of their unmaking'...this line makes me extremely envious as I wish I had thought of it first! 'These scenes rarely waver from stillness, stones which know a life without desires, dwelling in its own distance from nowhere.' These lines are so profound but also I feel pathos when I read them. Is it because I feel them to be a metaphor about a life of solitude? Life without desire that dwells inside itself that is from nowhere...such doleful words that pierce my heart as I ponder them......'then utterly focussed, scattering chips of granite to praise these views of time and place'...I don't know when I have seen you write about nature with such passion and it is a wonder to behold. This is so weird as I intended to e-mail you today because you haven't been on the link...but now I see you have been writing and nothing can be more soothing to the soul than that. I hope you are feeling some better and that the pain is manageable. Sherri said Ft Worth and Dallas may have high winds and a a lot of rain I do hope it doesn't effect you. Be well, my friend, and keep writing. Love...Marilyn p.s. I critiqued this twice because I hit the wrong key...don't you just hate it when that happens?

This Poem was Critiqued By: Duane J Jackson On Date: 2005-09-23 08:03:09
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.95238
Hi Mell, I'm thrilled to find a submission of yours. I am guaranteed to be rewarded with a read that this is inspiring and evocative in its ability to stir the mind and prick the senses with a taste of nirvana. Nirvana, yes, there is an almost spiritual aura about this piece, there is a presence here that is magical, from the moment of your riding the 'high stepping' mare toward the glorious setting sun....to the focussed chattering chips of granite. You have intertwined heavenly shades of color with the painting-like surroundings...add to this the sounds of the hooves of the trotting mare. This piece has philosophical undertones of contentment and while there somehow seems to be a current of nostalgia running through the entire piece....but a positive one. Amazing as always, Mell. So,did some of your friends like 'butterfly dreaming'? Take care, Duane.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Jillian K Sorenson On Date: 2005-09-22 23:39:13
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
This poem makes me thinking of cooking because you used colors that are also spices. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, it did distract me a bit. I suppose spices do come from nature and so if that's why you were using them it's fine. I like the profusion of grasses line best. I also like the picture of the horse, very majestic. Great opening stanza rhyme, I wonder why you did not continue a rhyme scheme since you can come up with creative ones (mine always fall flat). Nice work Mell.

This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2005-09-22 22:26:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.88636
Ah Mell, What a wonderful treat you have given us in the well executed offering. Of course as always your structure, verbiage and rhythm is impeccable. What glorious pictures you paint for us of the desert and all it's offerings. I so miss being able to ride out into the canyons and arroyos of the high desert, to view it's colors and smell sage, to hear the rustle of the grass and feel the wind on my face. You have given this to this reader with this poem and it has been well enjoyed. Thank you so much for this respite. Lora

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