Hi gary,
A fine poem! Some poems will stay somewhere in the recesses of memory for as
much permanence as brain cells allow, and I sense this may well be one of
them. The list of things caught on the breeze, for instance makes for
originality, uniqueness, and works well alongside a feeling/state of mind
that is shared.
But I've two quibbles - and one niggle...
The first is the phrase "Night's quick quiet" - nice sound to say - but,
compared to the more specific things you mention in the poem, the phrase
seems a bit abstract.
The second quibble is using the word "wind" twice! Could one be a breeze, or
some such word? Tho "breeze," in the second time you use "wind," does make
for a lot of "b" sounds! I sense it's solvable, though.
And then the niggle: "my thoughts unable to find a line" (which I take to
mean that you're wanting to write a poem!) which, even though there's a
delightful irony in the fact that you've writen one and said that you can't,
seems a bit indulgent, seems sort of un-languid...
Unless... And I'm writing "Unless" because there are things going on, under
the surface, here as well. I mean, "daffodils," for me, can only link with
one person, one poem, to me (lanky Willie Wordsworth!) and, at the end of
his poem, him lying down "in vacant or in pensive mood" and remembering
daffodils too! (Oh, you haven't included the line-writing line because of
the word "pen" - hidden in pensive - have you? Have you???)
I also really like the originality of the title!
Bob
>From: Gary Blankenship <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: languid (adj.)
>Date: Sun, 20 Jul 2003 11:42:56 -0700
>
>languid (adj.)
>
>
>
>These are the days to lie listless
>
>beneath a canopy of maple,
>
>their roots set deep enough to survive
>
>summer's seemingly endless drought,
>
>
>
>days spent in torpid motion,
>
>every movement set at a speed
>
>designed to save enough energy
>
>to make it to night's quick quiet.
>
>
>
>Nothing brought on the wind
>
>rouses me from my stupor -
>
>not the scent of aloe oil, lime,
>
>honeysuckle, even oregano;
>
>
>
>nor the city's summer sounds -
>
>wet children and disturbed dogs,
>
>fireworks beyond their pull date,
>
>sirens and the absence of bird song-
>
>
>
>carried to me on warm winds
>
>as I lay, barely breathing,
>
>undisturbed as dead grass,
>
>my thoughts unable to find a line,
>
>
>
>to find anything more in fact than
>
>a wish for daffodils and a spring mist.
>
>
>
>IF MY MAIL BOUNCES, MAIL [log in to unmask] AS AN ALTERNATIVE.....The
>homepage on hold until ???--- Writer's Hood at
>http://www.writershood.com/.....Check out the Auden contest. Poets for
>Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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