Mag 171



Linking up with Magpie Tales for the visual poetry prompt.  So out of practice, but I wanted to create something this morning.

Only we can't see that
we are finished things.
Perfection renders movement impotent.
Yet concentric circles revolve,
hence the burning wheels, and each
insignificant act strokes a color--
salmon, lilac-blue--upon canvas,
so that out of flecks of dust emerges
a shining, incarnate thing,
posessing space, transparent bones,
and feathers.  The waking,
walking, singing is the same,
the way the brook rushes
but the river remains, unmoved
by generations of insects.

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16 comments:

  1. lovely motion and emotion in your poem.

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  2. There is much truth in your words.

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  3. Both wise and entertaining; not all that far from "brilliant."

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  4. Generations of insects...I love that...

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    Replies
    1. Me too, I added it in the second draft as a cake-topper! It needed some more richness.

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  5. I absolutely love this, its brilliant, beautiful and moving

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  6. Love how this poem seems to begin mid-conversation, much as one might come upon the brook that flows away and remains ... the river. Love the motion within the poem and the concept of dashes of movement and color that create the gestalt ... this is so good.

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