THE SUNDAY WHIRL
The Search for the Unexpected
The Search for the Unexpected
it was late in the
evening the light fell softy over her shoulder
as she began her
tale telling us of finding the bits of leather
now
unrecognizable hard to tell what they had been
little dark abstract
shapes you could hold in your hand you wondered about
them
them
she said long
ago the butchers threw scraps into the thames
when the tide
receded all the hidden things revealed secrets exposed
nothing holy
there only things altered by time drifting under the
water
water
things thrown
away waiting to be found things from the deep
abyss
abyss
each day when the
tide goes out the search goes on
fall is best the weather cool sometimes mist
as she told her story we lost track of time we were hardly aware
just as she said she did when searching on the beach imagination filled in
the blanks
she told of one day finding a complete clay pipe once as she told her story
goosebumps rose on our flesh just to think of the everyday treasures
and how she lost herself on the beach as she searched for the unexpected
fall is best the weather cool sometimes mist
as she told her story we lost track of time we were hardly aware
just as she said she did when searching on the beach imagination filled in
the blanks
she told of one day finding a complete clay pipe once as she told her story
goosebumps rose on our flesh just to think of the everyday treasures
and how she lost herself on the beach as she searched for the unexpected
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SUNDAY'S WHIRLIGIG
A Snowy Afternoon
SUNDAY'S WHIRLIGIG
A Snowy Afternoon
what rhythms are
hidden in the snow so white so cold
the whirligig in
the shape of a blackbird spins in the wind
black against
white late afternoon no longer snowing
the light flat over
the snow shadows whistling the low afternoon light pierced
by the brilliant
setting sun the landscape frozen only the wind is moving
sometimes it picks
up a hand full of snow and throws it as far as it can
it sparkles in the
light the trees stand in silhouette limbs bare
the scene is a
pantomime of other days all is quiet
__________________________________________________________________
WRITERS DIGEST NOVEMBER PAD CHALENGE
Waiting.....
Waiting.....
waiting to see if
you will see what i see will you be able to say it
my father always
said it was me but i think it might be you even though you know
still hard to
say hard to admit the scene played out
right in front of
you you want me to carry the blame when it has been as it is
for all times hard
to know when it started i had nothing to do with it
it seemed to happen
in a foreign land faraway did you know
probably
not didn't fit the storyline she a precious child
smart as a whip the
pieces didn't fit perhaps something missing
who can say as she
grew it has gotten worst
poor little match
girl with matches to sell she stands on the corner
we could walk away and forget but she belongs to us
November 22, 2015
12 comments:
Oh, the sadness of that poor little match girl. I love your description of the snowy afternoon and the quality of the light, which of course captures your artist's eye........Loved the first poem and the unexpected treasures found when the tide goes out.....I always loved walking the tideline.........
Such a lot of emotion & depth in both the poems... especially loved these lines:
the low afternoon light pierced
by the brilliant setting sun
the landscape frozen
only the wind is moving
Lots of love,
Sanaa
Annell, you have been writing the most powerful poetry of late. Each poem really deserves its own space, as no comment can do justice to all three of them. Of the three of them, I think my favorite is the third one; but that doesn't mean the others are not excellent. Carrying the blame, not fitting the story line, the little match girl standing there. And no, we CAN never forget.
The little matchgirl is one of the saddest stories every written... and what's sad is that seems to have to be rewritten for out modern times.. the treasures of the Thames, and the end is also very poignant... and excellent collection.
I love all 3 but the second really spoke loudly to me....the beauty of a snowfall perfectly penned.
I'm with Mary, each is worthy of its own space. I like all three for very different reasons and refuse to pick a favorite because that would somehow lessen the evocative power and imagery of the others. You keep it up cause there is definitely a book somewhere in the future,
Elizabeth
Love how the story flowing so seemingly easy....from finding the gift in every day, snowy afternoon with wind throwing the snow, and the last one - about missing pieces, which always follow us, sometimes invisible.....very peacefully done, I really feel in balance, and say: it's okay, everything alright, it's never wrong....thank you, Annell
What beautiful sadness in all three poems. Yet is happens everyday all around us if not in our lives but in others as time passes, the tide comes in and goes out and the sun comes up each morning and each one of us makes a mark in the sand and then it is gone.
All 3 are wonderful but I especially like the Snowly Afternoon...
A poignant set of poems...how quietly we go about our days when perhaps inside we are screaming? Or at least wishing to be heard...in words i hope we all are..
The first is magical, the forth is so sad! My favorite line is in the second,l referring to the wind: "sometimes it picks up a hand full of snow ...
and throws it as far as it can"! Very neat.
Very powerful writes ..so much sadness ... as we silently walk screaming inside ... very acute write. Bastet
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