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Reaching And I sit and think Am I not as the tree Branched and reaching I wish to rise in hope Search for warmth, the light of day To rise to sunshine Yet I am stayed, clinging Dark and shadowed Strained and lonely Standing in life’s storms Bound beauty, brittle strength Easily tossed to unyielding winds Suddenly split by lightning That jagged word, pitched my way Aimed for the heart Once struck, left wounded Just to left my roots, the strength The courage needed They, deep and tangled Grasping, seeking solid ground False support, more a prison make Oh yes, we are all as one, the same Of trees, soft grasses in gentle breeze The vastness of a Mountain range The valley lush that runs between We are as the flowing stream Tumbling swift, or so it seems But in me flows, not water cool But heat of blood, and with it Fear of bleeding, And I Left here, in the shadows I cast beneath me |
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2009-07-07 08:41:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Nancy, you have a way with illusion. Share this more broadly, moving more outside the self into
the world about you. Poe was the last poet successful with such keen introspecting upon self alone.
We, the readers, need comparison and contrast...your plight with that of others.
You can take this to the next level by finding universally attachments to that of others.
We are, after all, gardeners in a nursery of the minds and thoughts of others. Dispose yourself
to this and the interest of your poetry will grow proportionately.
Very pleasing lines, "We are as the flowing stream/Tumbling swift, or so it seems".
Now let's start off by NEVER placing the pronoun "me" in any poem not intended to be a ditty.
Do this one little thing for me and you'll be amazed at what happens.
JCH