The Last Friday

The Last Friday is a poetry editing group. Once a month, we post a poem and then offer feedback to the other poems on the Forum. We're a friendly but honest group. We value each other deeply and desire for every poet to be published or become famous.


    All the help I can get, please.

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    Dewell H. Byrd

    Posts : 363
    Join date : 2012-01-05
    Age : 87
    Location : Central Point, OR

    All the help I can get, please.

    Post  Dewell H. Byrd on Thu Jul 26, 2012 9:48 pm

    Death of a close friend leaves my thoughts a bit scattered. His widow and family would cherish a tribute poem from me. Dewell

    AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND

    (Don Bellairs)

    I squint at your horizon,

    watch the sun sift through you,

    wonder if I'm next.



    These are your molten hours;

    weighted down by cold clay.

    Ghosts loose your name

    among the statues of yesterday.



    I look down the green sweep of time

    to the river of your life;

    wild in winter, sprite in spring

    withered in stagnant September.



    Calm spreads like milk through hunger

    in your silent night.



    I pray you the appetite for one last spin,

    one last deep-belly laugh that lets

    your waters flow beyond the green.



    -Dewell H. Byrd

    de2byrds@aol.com
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    tsukany

    Posts : 605
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    A couple things happen to me

    Post  tsukany on Fri Jul 27, 2012 8:14 am

    Dewell (sorry for your loss)

    Forgive me for the reformat of your poem. I get lost in a couple images... (one in the first stanza and one in the last (centering attention to the word "green."))


    AT THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND

    (Don Bellairs)

    I look down the green sweep of time (I love this section!)
    to the river of your life;
    wild in winter, sprite in spring
    withered in stagnant September.

    I squint at your horizon,
    watch the sun sift through you, (I get lost here with "you"..horizon? friend?)
    wonder if I'm next.

    I pray you the appetite for one last spin, ("you" again trips me up)
    one last deep-belly laugh that lets
    your waters flow beyond the green.

    -Dewell H. Byrd

    Pat

    Posts : 648
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    I'm wondering if I get it. . .

    Post  Pat on Sat Jul 28, 2012 1:58 pm

    Dewell, doublecheck you and your. I think the would serve better at times. Are we talking his end? That's how I took it. Sun sifting through him? Not sure what this means. . . are you thumbing through the pages of his life? Then you shift to yourself. Not needed really if the focus is on him.

    Green rivers of your life. Okay, I can go with this image. Very poetic and image-beautiful.

    The short stanza about calm brings it back to you. I'd let it be about him.

    Then you have a wish for him. . . nice closure.

    Todd's reordering your poem helps clarify it, I think.

    Sometimes I think we just start somewhere to get it going. Then, we get to the real stuff. I do this too. Then, it's hard for me to see it. . . . and hard to give up. Pat

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