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Holly
Oct 29, 2009 7:20:06 GMT -5
Post by carousal on Oct 29, 2009 7:20:06 GMT -5
Holly
I see him now Through ten year old eyes Crossed legged at his feet With Dog as a companion And the smell of the sea In wintertime firelight ~ A large man Blued jersed, faded trouser Belt of burnished leather From which once had swung A pirate’s cutlass Such is boyhood fantasy ~ Web wrinkled cheeks Salt fashioned By the southern Trades Saddened eyes Wistful for release From the anchor of Kentish fields ~ Again the old tales Knee hugging wonder In the half light The wanderings of the Western Star Held together with rust and rivets Plying the copra trade in far away islands ~ As the telling unfolded The room, Dog and I faded Lost in the cherry pipe haze Keening memory in faraway eyes “Five days out from Sumatra Sounds Running with the south easterly blow” ~ Ah, Holly your world was never here Imprisoned by its made to measure values Nor with the company of harps and angels But maybe at Gods side you retell the old tales “Five days out from Sumatra Sounds Running with the south easterly blow”
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Holly
Oct 30, 2009 3:49:35 GMT -5
Post by Dr Fogg on Oct 30, 2009 3:49:35 GMT -5
I really enjoy poems like this, I see characters like this every day and wonder what tales they have to tell. exalt
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Holly
Nov 12, 2009 18:49:17 GMT -5
Post by Harklight on Nov 12, 2009 18:49:17 GMT -5
In mind, a different Holly: she was wild and free and mm, maybe I'll write about her one day. Your poem made these characters as large as life. The knee hugging wonders and sea, the cherry pipe: all small details added to the tale. Did you mean blued jersey, S2? I've re-read and this piece is blissfully calming. Bravo! H x
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