Concrete poem. . . . I'm open to suggestions.

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Concrete poem. . . . I'm open to suggestions.

Post  Pat on Thu Nov 01, 2012 12:15 am


I love this place—a swampy path

just east of Bald Knob, inaccessible

in spots, due to backwaters and sucking

mud. An early morning sun

rises there and offers a pink dahlia

to anyone with half an eye.

And suddenly, it’s out of sight. Those who inhabit

farmland nearby never know if

they’ll be presented a flower

in the sky or a shrouded veil.

Not predictable. But once the sun

climbs a few rungs, the light burns through,

and voila! Goose Pond Slough

with its stained tea-waters

flowing graciously like a slow lullaby.

The bald, aristocratic cypress trees

kneel in steamy dark waters. Who can

ignore such beauty, such constancy?

The slough, like any suburb, is filled

with interesting inhabitants: gators half-submerged,

snakes slithering, catfish stirring, owls hooting.

Maybe you won’t see them today; however,

this is where they live and they are home.

Many dwellers in and around the slough

own massive patience, but the queen

of waiting is the crane.

Canadian geese blanket fields nearby

undisturbed by bald eagles renting

huge nests on boughs, nests high

like a window in a castle while geese

rest from a laboring flight, low now in rice fields

like common vagabonds. We can count on

a stalking moon tonight with

an entourage of scattered stars.

And that's when this boggy slough with its

heady smells and familiar sounds

will grow more vocal

under the radiance of a white canoe in the sky,

but this is not the place you’ll find me

after pitch-dark.

Pat Durmon, 2012


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Pat et al.

Post  tsukany on Thu Nov 01, 2012 12:48 pm

Pat since your shape poem doesn't translate to this forum (through no fault of yours and we're grateful for the emailed version that is shaped), I will post my response for posterity and the et al. I think you have entered three groups into the poem that could be removed without damaging the poem: I, them, and we (me again at the end). I want the poem to be about the slough (how do you pronounce that word? there are several different, correct ways). "voila" seemed to be French and I wasn't sure how to process its inclusion in this context. Nice imagery!

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Helpful. . . . avoid all those pronouns. . . . and

Post  Pat on Thu Nov 01, 2012 1:50 pm

the way we pronounce slough down here is the same as slew. Country. And I'll try again, hoping I can keep it about the slough and what's in it. . . . I can see I went far and wide. So much goodness there. . . . thanks, Pat


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Re: Concrete poem. . . . I'm open to suggestions.

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