Thursday, September 22, 2011

Driven


edge of the ice
red

of the flower
blade

of the knife
of the road

the turning

harrow of

snow







3 comments:

  1. So good the way the red edge blade road palate-tappings and chewings-over of the thought open out at the driven turning into an open field of flower, harrow and snow. Cut, edged, harrowed and winterwheat-like harvested in the moment of that opening.

    The word I keep reading through the words is the one that's not here: blood.

    (Is it just morning exhaustion vision or have I just now seen that red blade edge in the snow drifts on the buffalo plains?)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Tripping over a harrow in the snow would suck.
    Thanks for the poem - it was a neat flow of feeling. Left a flower-knife in my mind.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Tom,

    Your keen scout's eye's discovered those almost imperceptible red tracks here, just as you found out The Squint-eyed Kid you-know-where.

    Peter,

    FOR THE MIND OF A SNOWMAN


    A harrow on
    a barrow, wheel-

    barreling down
    the snowy slope

    would be
    even more

    harrowing.

    Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this one; always appreciated.

    ReplyDelete

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