Poeming

1

It has      all

Day been

Snowing

As        thick as

Sheets,

 

And

 

The      wind

Has been

Pushing

Against             the

Trees,

 

And

 

The      grass

Is

Dying

Underneath

The      leaves.

 

 

2

Then

I am     swallowed

By a fall            of

Leaves

 

And

 

Rooms like       richest             

Cities    move   

Through            me.

 

 

3

And      toward

Me the                        

Sun                  is shinning

 

And      toward

Me the            

Clouds             are moving

 

And      toward

Me the

Trees                are bending.

 

 

4

My hand moves among the trees

                               And fields,

Like hare

And then

                               I sing.

 

My hand moves among the streams

                               And hills,

Like hare

And then

                               I sing.

 

5

I am brought to the trees

                          And hills,

Even as I bring them

From my mouth, like a song.

 

And

I think,

 

My hand is a bird or

                     A body,

I have found and dragged home,

                     Behind me.

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    • poeticgrin
    • December 17th, 2008

    The spacing here adds much to the piece, as does the thud of the words, “A body” near the end. Great title – brings to mind a writer creating worlds and images and settings from his or her hand – a hand that has a life of its own. I picture a writer at a desk, traveling through mind’s eye to winter forests.

    Good stuff.

  1. Hello blonderblondest, it took a while to find you; your name wasn’t a live link back to your blog so I had to do some hunting around,, but I’m a word-seeking missile, and ta da, here am I, from lost to found, heh heh. As Bryan noted above, the spacing of your poem really works here, and for the most part I agree with his comments. However, your poem has this reader reading the piece as the observer, watching the writer creating landscape paintings, then writing what he created on canvas. An ambidextrous artist/writer, if you will. Am I making any sense here? I sense an old soul using syntax of days long past. I really enjoyed reading this, blonderB..:)

    Now, on a totally different track, if you want to know how to make your name a live link leading back here, go to your Profile section and scroll down past the “Personal Options” and “Name” sections to the “Contact Info” section. Right under the “E-mail” option (which is required) you’ll see “Website”. Just type your WordPress.com URL address into that text box. Then scroll down to the “Update Profile” button and click on it. That’s all there is to it. Your display name should now be a “live” link back to your blog. This is only if you want people to find you, in this case, you asked me to visit your blog but there was no way to find it other than do a “search” for it..:)

    Okay, I just scrolled down far enough to see that you are, indeed, Toby Baldwin of Arkansas, as well as blonder blondest? Author and artist? Hah. This explains why I read your poem the way I did. You can see and express your world both in the written word and through painting or samesuch medium, right? heh heh I think I just earned me a Gold star!
    I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Toby! (luv that name)

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