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By Talisker
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16 September 2006 |
I am, in the real world, a gardener. Anyway, an old couple who once lived opposite me, phoned to get me to look at a job. It was a sublime afternoon, a visit blessed with friendship rediscovered. And a small but precious gift. Funny how the most seemingly insignificant acts can affect the soul.
Oli. September sun so gentle, The incense of his pipe smoke, Sanctifies the garden, By the crooked greenhouse, His gnarled hands cupped, Offer forth, Ripe tomatoes.
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leabhar!
Written by gerardconnolly (1186 comments posted) 16th September 2006 | Lovely little burst on the banjo, Oli. Grand craic! Its you, Clo and our little furry friend, the Mouse that make the Poetry site fun to visit instead of the Psychiatrist's Waiting Room it was coming to resemble. I should add Rattle-Spear and Patterjack to my list of must read poets. You should look them up yourself if you haven't already done so..
Slan! |
Written by Phil (6851 comments posted) 16th September 2006 | Liked this a lot Talisker. Simple, yet evocative.
Second and third lines are excellent.
All the best,
Phil. |
Written by JourneyAtNight (315 comments posted) 16th September 2006 | This is lovely!
I agree with Phil - the second and third lines are great.
I don't know if this is what you were aiming for, but the first and second half of the poem have an interesting contrast of imagary - the first half with peaceful, swirling images i.e the gentle sun and pipe smoke; and then the second half is all misshapen - "gnarled", "crooked". It kind of threw me a little, but then for some strange reason, the last line rounds it all off nicely! Must be something to do with it being simple and natural, I don't know.
Anyway, a good write!
E xxx |
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