Like a time-capsule of: Like a time-capsule of combined commitment in this the everlasting, penultimate definition of jolly goodness flowing through the fountains of your forlorn courtyard...
very well written. captures: very well written. captures the mood of the nation today very well. Are we living in the most dark and worst of times? Maybe......
It does take the reader into: It does take the reader into the scene and feels like those "summer movies", bringing to mind "Summer of '42," even. It also brings me back to those young days when we first got our freedom through cars and friends and driving about!
Where to begin!? Oh boy.:
Where to begin!? Oh boy. Let's start, not at the bus station roof or the first cup of coffee, but here, in the barn’s dim throat, where the air is thick with hay‑dust and the storm’s low growl presses against the timber. The chipped mug has already made its return, closing a loop since the city, and the animals shift in their stalls as if they too can feel a hinge about to turn. It is in this stillness that the verse flares: a sudden, uninvited thought that the worlds themselves might be nothing more than rumours, passed from mouth to mouth until no one could swear they’d seen one. That is the crack in the timber, its ontological splinter.
And through it rides the Horseman. Not the grim spectre of Washington Irving’s cautionary tale, but a rural pantomime: headless, yes, but bowing with omelet in one hand, whiskey in the other, the top hat ( long lost in the city’s loops ) now restored to the stage. The storm, seeded hours ago in the microchip grid, is in full voice overhead, and yet the gesture is pure theatre. This is disbelief as performance, the moment when the work stops asking whether you believe and instead hands you a role in the play.
The Horseman is a hinge in the truest sense: he closes the Top Hat and Storm threads with a flourish, and in the same breath opens the door to the occult convergence that waits in the next unit. Without him, the leap from barn‑realism to emblem‑stack ritual would be a jolt; with him, it is a bow, an invitation, a knowing wink from the stage. Here, in the rain‑slick absurdity of his arrival, the suite’s architecture is laid bare: loops closing, loops opening, disbelief shifting from rupture to complicity.
Your words touch me more: Your words touch me more deeply than I can express. To know that my poetry resonates with someone who has lived a lifetime with verse is both humbling and profoundly moving. I’m grateful beyond measure that the images and rhythms I shape can stir such feeling and offer a sense of renewal. Thank you for this generous gift of encouragement; it will stay with me as I continue to write.
That is most interesting and: That is most interesting and very significant to have chanced upon a personal connection. The most important poems to me have such a quality whether making inroads to self or projecting outward to dreams and aspirations. Thank you, dear Starward-Led
Given the circumstances and: Given the circumstances and vicinity of my adolesence, this poem touches me more than just the literary way; and more profoundly than most poems can.
I have been reading Poetry: I have been reading Poetry for over half a century. Yet, when I read yours, I feel like I am just starting out because your verbal skill is so invocative, evocative, and provocative. Your Poems function at what might be called the very frontier of the English language where power and strength of words is renewed beyond the mundane ways in which most of us use them. Reading your words is very much like a mystical experience; reading your words is always, and ever shall be, a Privilege.
>> View All Comment Activity >>