Thank you very much, fine: Thank you very much, fine wordsmith, for your validating and captivating reflections. I just read your latest poem and I'm still entranced. So honored by your support.
You did it. You made the: You did it. You made the sublime happen, and now I have to go back and read it again so I can fully appreciate just how you made it happen.
I had so many transporting and intoxicating experiences from line to outstanding line that I was, in brief poetic ecstasy, right there under "the moon and Mercury", and between the "untamed spirits" and an enchantress worthy of making a mortal ask: "Am I a willow tree, or a howling cat/ I can not tell . . . "
Then, in a state of transcendental awe and with a wondrous, delicate touch, you breathed poetry fit for the ages:
"and I am the owl
that wakes from a dream
to hoot
at the rippled reflection
of the moon
waiting for another
late
night conquest"
Bowing to your wizardry. Encore!
a common love: We share in our love of lakes and willows – and what lay above and below. Something magical therein dwells – to the woken eye. Be it night or day.
The beauty---the magnificent,: The beauty---the magnificent, elegant and exquisite beauty---of this poem is so vast that a single reading cannot take it all in. The verbal combinations, the images evoked, the setting described . . . all of these are so perfectly choreographed to create an overwhelming reading experience. I have been reading poetry for fifty years, as of this past April, and I normally do not allow poems to have this kind of effect on me. But . . . wow! . . . I feel like I did during my senior year in high school when I was first discovering Poetry's emotive effect on one's soul. This poem is one PostPoem's very greatest ones.
The accumulated phrases add: The accumulated phrases add up to a vision of almost unbearable sadness, but it is so elegantly stated in your usual format of nine brief lines.
I’m glad you enjoyed it..: I'm glad you enjoyed it.
You thinks it's a cute write?
Thank you Ramona.
You know why that is?
Because it comes from a cute writer.
You know what makes me a cute writer?
I know all the angles.
To be honest, I actually don't know all the angles.
There are some I don't know, but am willing to try.
I'll try any angle.
I'm a cute 'try angle' writer.
Sometimes I'm not a cute 'try angle' writer.There are times when I'm obtuse.
When that happens I'm an 'obtuse try angle' writer.
But that only happens in the summer usually.
Only when it's above 90 degrees. If it stays below 90 degrees I'll remain an..a cute 'try angle'
Right?
Er..
The Cycles of Time: There is always the great renewal of cycles, and so many cycles there are – both big and small – across our own lifetimes and beyond.
Sometimes: Sometimes I get in the habit of compression. But I don’t want to get too overly reliant on it, as I sometimes do. I still find great joy, sitting with something for weeks, months or years – and just letting it ruminate and ferment. Or until I’ve gotten to the right place in my life, to say it properly. And sometimes, that requires letting yourself age too.
Some funny folks in the world: Some real funny folks in the world. Some folks that live in their own world – and think no one can see into it. They always end in trouble soon enough. And The Farm ain't no place to be.
Thank you so very much for: Thank you so very much for these words. I had been feeling a little down about being unable to attend worship services yesterday, because of the recent aggravations to my medical condition, and then this poem came as if a compensation. Then your comment added additional joy for me.
Thank you so much for commenting on this one.
Hello Ramona…: Hello Ramona.
I came across your poem here.
I wanted to check something with you.
Did you want someone to check your spelling?
I did a quick check. Everything looks fine. Have you heard of Spellcheck? It's a program that automatically checks your spelling.
I've used it. It's pretty good.
Have a lovely evening!
My mother's three brothers: My mother's three brothers were in the European theater---two participated in D Day and the Battle of the Bulge; one was a pilot of a bomber. All three survived, although the pilot passed away, several years afterward, from complications that could be traced back to wounds received. My father enlisted in the Marines, was sent to the Pacific Theater, and served aboard the Nevada as a gunner's mate. He helped operate the guns that shot down the Japanese suicide planes. Ironically, my mother and her brothers were the children of two immigrants, one of whom was from Germany; but, to hear them talk, their German ancestry in no way ameliorated their fierce desire to combat, and ultimately defeat and destroy, the Third Reich and the Nazi Party.