To panic about ice
yet to form, comments yet
to be made, technology
yet to break down,
a Coleridge poem printed
and not read
is to be most afraid
of how serendipity dances
across pavers—
cracked or not.
To panic about ice
yet to form, comments yet
to be made, technology
yet to break down,
a Coleridge poem printed
and not read
is to be most afraid
of how serendipity dances
across pavers—
cracked or not.
You are a wonderful poet: Very stark, realism dripping through your lines and getting the reader’s attention. Your last lines time after time swell up out of the poem and make a silence, or a comment, that forces thoughts to rummage through what’s just been read. That’s the art of craft and the craft of art.
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Thank you so much for your comment and for taking a look at my blog. It’s great to know there are fellow poets and lovers of poetry out there in cyberspace. I look forward to exploring your interesting blog as well.
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