Poetry / emotional vessel: in the field.
heart
green height of storms, bring me new pain
that I may re-interpret it as
the blood from the husk of my imagined self.
that I might be shucked
heart
and cook away the rawness
that kept me in the field,
I am no more metaphor than the stalk next to me,
no stronger than the foundation molesting my roots,
nor more confident
than the upside-down ocean I stretch toward.
I am too tall to bend down
and pick love up, heart, I’m very old
My will bends farther than I can.
I live post-bloom, waiting for the wind to carry
my scent across the light.
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I liked this poem and how you used the words. You have such an interesting way with them that I do love. That is why I like your poetry. You are a great writer I must say once again. Lovely poem.
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This shows a lot of talent-you’ve reclaimed the often-cliched heart by wrapping some great imagery around it.
The first stanza is missing that originality, though. It’s based on such commonplace numbers as storms, blood, and so on, that are going to take a lot to reclaim.
I love the images of a huge, empty, quiet cornfield that this evokes. It has a sense of lonliness and a vast feeling of isolation. The descriptions are unique and evocative. the more I read this,the more I like it!
Strong piece and I liked the way it is very open to the readers own interpretation as all good poetry should. The use of lighter phrases against more ominous ones plays out well and the piece is neither flowery or veering towards pretentiousness like this kind of material can too often do. Good effort.
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