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Under the Rainbow he wrote a poem and imagined (both the poem, that it mattered). the pool filter has passion, direction, it fills the night with its sound. you realize you are less than a dog, yet more; you are quieter. those poems, they are like lightning. you read about it, what it struck, how it torched. you never see it hit. but the rain it raineth every day; no fable, no rumor. wet clothes, blankets. outings cancelled. you think, it's what you do. lightning, rain, neither contrived: the one long, the one short, in the odds. you get the wet bet without putting down your money, the bills that slipped, that swirl out with the lightning, among the stars. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: cheyenne smyth On Date: 2012-08-27 18:01:20
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Mark,
This is such a melancholy poem full of heart-ache and some pain that lies between the lines, unwritten but there just the same. I have failed at picking a favorite line or phrase as they are all compelling and wonderful. sometimes I come across a poem that I wish I had written and this is one of them. More of the same please! Bravo.
Best wishes,
cheyenne