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zenmaster
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Re: I Can Never Read This To You
Reply #4 - Jan 26th, 2010 at 1:24am
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Terry wrote on Jan 23rd, 2010 at 3:00am:
Frank, I dream:
That you might again walk alone ( This part seems cumbersome to me, something I noticed reading it aloud) along a river's bank and watch
a bird who's wings breach? winds to take flight; ( Maybe I am reading this wrong, did you mean breach winds to take flight?, not sure what breech winds would mean unless I am missing some imagery here)


Just my thoughts as I read it, some great images in there, I especially like telling shadow.

  
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Re: Frankly told
Reply #3 - Jan 25th, 2010 at 4:33pm
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Evidently a meanigful history between these lines split a little to add the curtness of pain that seems shot through the words!


A poem for Frank

I dream 
I am watching you
as you walk a river bank
struck as a bird
wings into flight 
defying gravity
back bent
shoulder pressed
in rest
against a tree
fatigue casts, 
a telling shadow
downstream, 
my imagination
holds your image,
clear, caged and dear 
you straighten,
standing tall and fearless
waiting for your chance
at the sky
« Last Edit: Jan 25th, 2010 at 4:36pm by peach »  
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Terry
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Re: I Can Never Read This To You
Reply #2 - Jan 23rd, 2010 at 7:24am
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Thank you Nas,

I think I wish to use the crit in it's entirety.

Terry
  
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Re: I Can Never Read This To You
Reply #1 - Jan 23rd, 2010 at 6:51am
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Hi Terry,

Some lovely image, just a few thoughts - changing some of the line breaks and ease flow of reading.  Use or reject as you wiish.

Quote:
Frank, 
I dream you might again walk alone 
along a river bank and watch
a bird whose wings breech winds to take flight; 
then with your bent and sweating back 
brush against God's trees 
not in supplication
but fearful that you might cast the telling shadow downstream,
where you're imagination holds caged and dear you're quarry that awaits the presentation of the fly.
  
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Terry
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I Can Never Read This To You
Jan 23rd, 2010 at 3:00am
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Frank, I dream:
That you might again walk alone along a river's bank and watch
a bird who's wings breech winds take flight; then with you're bent
and sweating back brush against God's trees not in supplication
but fearful that you might cast the telling shadow downstream, 
where you're imagination holds caged and dear you're quarry
that awaits the presentation of the fly.
  
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