Sunday, September 30, 2012

Poetic Movements


Congested round the edges 
Of a stagnant pond, observe 

The lyre-like fronds 
Of ferns 

Behind which croaking 
Troubadours compose 

Watery, crepuscular songs. 





3 comments:

  1. Wonderful! Or should I say, "Ribbit!"

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  2. "Congested", the perfect word, beautifully contains this inchoate flock of insipid wannabards, and keeps their memory with us like something floating on the rank air above the foul pond... smallish, particulate, conducive to involuntary fits of sneezing.

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  3. Thanks, Joe! BTW, you can “ribbit” all you want but I prefer the "brekekekex koax koax" of that old marsh frog, Aristophanes.

    Tom, it is when I read comments like these that I think that old scallywag Aristophanes “appears excellently” reflected in your character.

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