This Poem was Submitted By: marilyn terwilleger On Date: 2006-08-17 14:53:22 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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The Hunt

A wisp of campfire smoke with hissing sticks and spewing ashes, the smell of sage, and I’m once again on the plains. My feet remember the path to the old homestead, nestled between the glass sheer creek and tumbleweeds. We hunted Antelope and made camp there. Not in my deepest dreams or my most prolific fancy did I believe I would miss these things. Now I am burdened by memories that should remain in a life where I bought them.  I never liked the hunt but it was expected of me.  Now my heart pines for the peace I found there and the firm sharp edge  of night under an army of stars and the cold glories of dawn. I long to hear grass whisper or see the quaking trees…and us.

Copyright © August 2006 marilyn terwilleger

This Poem was Critiqued By: arnie s WACHMAN On Date: 2006-08-26 18:13:04
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.83333
Very descriptive and thought invoking of a time that you enjoyed but then again didn't enjoy the hunt. Was it because of the slaughter of the animal, or you were too cold;too young? The images bring forth sights and smells, and especially the sound of a camp fire. The smell of sage is pungent. There is a longing there for days past (when life was more simple). Perhaps you could have written a little more about "the hunt". i.e.: what kind. Now I am burdened by memories that should remain in a life where I bought them................typo? "bought" s/b "brought"? P.S.: what kind of trees "quake"? and who is "us"? Perhaps you can delve into that a bit more?

This Poem was Critiqued By: Turner Lee Williams On Date: 2006-08-18 20:56:01
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
mt--A well written recounting of time spent with that loved one doing what he enjoyed. "The Hunt" although not a favorite pasttime of speaker is re- sponsible for these endearing memories. This poignant write will always hold a special enamorement for protagonist; the imagery alone is intoxicat- ing; the ending is sentimental; and the entire offering is cathartic; "Now my heart pines for the peace I found there and the firm sharp edge of night under an army of stars and the cold glories of dawn. I long to hear grass whisper or see the quaking trees…and us." More tribute than elegy; more sweet than bitter; more uplifting than melan- cholic. TLW
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lora Silvey On Date: 2006-08-17 15:55:17
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Marilyn, Oh for such memories that haunt, for such memories that bade us to come back. No, the hunt is not where it was, the oneness with the mother and her gifts--yes, hunger to fill those once again. When you return, when you are sated for a time, luxuriate in those things that are so often overlooked and are truly treasures worth keeping close to heart. So well penned, an accomplished write, no nits here. I would offer a rose but perhaps a bough of sage would be more fitting. Brava! Warmest always, Lora
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