Thursday, August 4, 2011
55 - what remains
atop a mid-town hill, where the children lay,
stands an old oak tree, upon which a roped swing
i come here for peace & to hear them sing
then match the sway of their empty swing
when the sun sleeps, i hum their refrain
& take my leave through their granited names
Tell a story in 55 words. Give it a try or just read more, go see g-man.
Over at d'Verse, it is time for Matting the Bar: Crit and Craft, where Luke Prater is teaching on trimming the fat from your poetry. Redundancy. Over use of adjectives. And much more. Or maybe it is more appropriate to say much less.
Also submitted to Poetry Jam.