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Friday, September 12, 2008

Blind Review Friday

Blind Review Friday.

The author shall remain anonymous (unless they chose to divulge themselves in the comments.)

Those commenting are also welcome to remain anonymous if they wish.

Incendiary comments will be removed.

If you would like your piece thrown to the wolves send it to salinger@ameritech.net with "Workshop the hell out of this poem" as the subject line.


Our pile is currently empty - so please send in a piece you'd like to see featured.




Reading Li Po

In morning fog I finger stones like words,
place them in my pocket to begin my own poem.
Silver trees press inward toward my chair.
The sky drains to surround me.
The stones remind me of Li Po’s mountains.
I sit with him, waiting to vanish.



5 comments:

Bree said...

i love the feeling. i can really relate to the setting of these fine words. i am not sure, however, whether the title is to be taken literally or figuratively. in fact, the title detracts.
otherwise, what a fine poem! the author "put me there'.

Jesus Crisis said...

I love this. Don't change a thing!

Anonymous said...

this is a beautiful little piece. it takes real skill to convey a complete moment in only a few lines.

maryturzillo said...

Very nice, very evocative. I like the fog at the beginning and the vanishing at the end.

I have to wonder about that chair, though. Why do you need "toward my chair"? It makes the poem too modern, where I'd like it to be timeless.

"The stones remind me of Li Po's mountains" -- wonderful line, perfect preparation for that last killer line.

But "The sky drains to surround me" -- hm. Not up to the atmosphere of the rest of the poem. Not sure what to do with it.

Very fine work, altogether.

Tom Baird said...

From the author:

Thank you all for your comments. I agree with Mary about the chair. Just having the trees press inward toward me is enough. I'll play with the line about the sky, too. Something belongs there. Maybe just not that. Thanks again.
Tom Baird

Cited...

The poet doesn't invent. He listens. ~Jean Cocteau