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By woody44
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17 December 2007 |
My excuse is that I am not a poet...
The house is empty now,
But still echoes of a previous life
Run through its musty rooms.
A letter sits upon the mat,
Water drips from empty taps.
A toy upon the splintered floor
A boy now grown,
Weeps for times no more. |
Written by vparakala (13 comments posted) 17th December 2007 |
short, but pretty cute. what i mean is, it sketches the sad picture pretty beautifully. try to think about the puncutation though...it might help a bit.
otherwise, nice.
peggy  |
Written by woody44 (777 comments posted) 17th December 2007 | Thanks Peggy. Punctuation? Very remiss of me and I now, hopefully, have made amends. Perhaps I ought to drop into this section a little more often.
Roger.
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Written by Fledermaus (3448 comments posted) 17th December 2007 | | Clear images. Not sure about the form, but it seemed to flow. |
Written by Phil (6845 comments posted) 17th December 2007 | I liked this Woody. Simple and direct. It had an impact on me - and due to its subject matter - should have on others too. As I read, I kept wanting to change run to running. Just a thought.
Odd how we 'non poets' get the occasional urge to pen a verse. Good fun isn't it?
Phil. |
Written by woody44 (777 comments posted) 18th December 2007 | Thanks Fled.
Phil. Yes strange how the red mist descends sometimes! I must say I do quite enjoy `composing` the occasional piece of verse but I`m afraid I am not very conversant with the technicalities of poetry writing. Must try harder! Thanks for your comments, and I hope the novel is progressing favourably.
Roger |
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