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Cry For Me I am little dog my lady resides in stone no more to comfort no more to hold me no longer needed Cry for me with the morrow in the grave I’ll be I am ocean my brine resides in stone no longer green and froth gnawing crimson tide, algae red prehistoric orange plumes wave Cry for me with the morrow my marine life dead I am spacious mountain top my bladed majesty resides in stone my timbers shredded black gold energy rooted out Cry for me with the morrow my regal stand, a blowing dust I am sparkling glacier my ice resides in stone my waters once tumbled my stream only trickles brackish and impure Cry for me with the morrow my fish lie floundering dry I am forest razed by the blight called man my creatures reside in stone I have become desert my red rocks crumbled beneath sand’s poisoned atoms Cry for us with the morrow we will be barren I am earth my life resides in the stone my tears are for the woman’s womb standing empty my moans are for man’s seed—no longer bringer of life my sighs are for spirit’s voice—speaking silent Cry for me with the morrow I will join little dog |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Tony P Spicuglia On Date: 2010-08-06 09:54:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Lora, I will say; unlike most of your writing I have had a difficult time getting my arms around this piece. It might be because:
• I have seen loss and grief; and through it all have come to recognize the enormity of the moment, and the insignificance of the loss
• I understand that the disaster in the gulf will go away; that 95% of all species on earth have become extinct and man had nothing to do with man. Or, as one sees (this too will pass).
• or I am missing where the metaphor should be taking me and am a buffoon.
Of Some news, or “little dogâ€, or the earth or just loss for the “morrowâ€, and I comprehend the inference of the moment. I see the loss, the impact of razing the world and the time it takes to heal. I get all that.
No, all that is incidental to the moment for me. I don’t know why your excellent writing in this piece doesn’t yank my heart out as most of your writing.
No, maybe I do. I am so fed up and disgusted with the faux industry of “green†and most the unscientific b.s. they expunge that even good writing. I should weep more I guess. Maybe I’ll find my soul tomorrow.
It was good writing, a well done metaphor, an analogy filled personable and powerful piece. Even to a CAD like me.
You know how I feel about you and your writing; maybe I should have just lied about me.