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.


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

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    Pat

    Posts : 671
    Join date : 2011-09-12

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

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

    GOOSE POND SLOUGH



    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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    tsukany

    Posts : 619
    Join date : 2011-05-21

    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!

    Pat

    Posts : 671
    Join date : 2011-09-12

    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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