badger11

Legacy Member
  • Content count

    1,630
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About badger11

Contact Methods

  • ICQ
    0

Recent Profile Visitors

336 profile views
  1. there's a solace to be found in nakedness lent against the wall, the door, the mirrors beyond the bites, the chatter of magpies, the hum of those wing'd up to buzz with the pulse of hexagons slick with honey: and so we release the lure of lies uncradle the ifs and buts winnow the air of words in rooms with no clues unwrap the blue of sky fray the net to free a flight of butterfly, clear the pond of bloom, our tongues wet with the broth of living.
  2. Cheers Marti. Pleased to see you about and posting! Phil
  3. The specifics key the reader into the moment Marti - reading a poem where the poet is reading too enjoyed Phil
  4. Enjoyed the narrative Tink - I like a narrative in a poem - motherhood brings a ferocity in defending her young.
  5. Nice sense of spontaneity and immediacy.
  6. hi Tony. That's very kind of you to offer your thoughts on revisions. Very much appreciated. The structure was intentional, but it proved a barrier to reader engagement. I have watered that down to expectations in the revisions. The use of for was anachronistic, genre based, but the stress falls too heavy there. Very much like the suggestion of still - connects with the longevity theme. Thanks again Phil
  7. Agreed Tink. I did feel that ;haunt' evoked no felt response. Your history is very interesting. I suspect there is more sunshine in your part of the world - emigration was the right choice! best badge
  8. revision3 The terraced streets are wet with restless light where anthracite memories ghost once more. The dust still glitters in their rusted lungs, those boys scrawl scripture on this bolted door. Their mining eyes have inked in Baptist earth, through tunnels that echo with chapel song. They ice the living with a rasping breath. The hymns beckon to where I must belong. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- revision2 The terraced streets are wet with restless light, for anthracite memories tread once more. The dust will glitter in their rusted lungs, those boys scrawl scripture on this bolted door. Their mining eyes have inked in Baptist earth, these tunnels are ghosted with chapel song. They ice the living with a rasping breath. The hymns beckon to where I must belong. ========================================================== revision The terraced streets wet with restless light, anthracite memories tread once more. The dust glitters in their rusted lungs, those boys are scrawling on bolted doors. Their mining eyes inked in black earth, these tunnels ghosted with chapel song. They haunt the living with rasping breath, hymns beckon to where I must belong. original The terraced streets wet with restless light, anthracite memories tread once more. The dust shimmers in their rusted lungs, those boys are knocking at bolted doors. Their webbed eyes hunger in black earth, these tunnels worried with chapel song. They ice the living with rasping breath, hymns beckon to where I must belong.
  9. Thanks for taking another look Tink. I suspected the word may trigger a few memories all the best badge
  10. Awe

    Indeed it does!
  11. Awe

    Perhaps you could go for the definite option... Just a thought...your poem certainly conjures the picture! badge
  12. Me too. The starkness is characteristic honesty and strength. Compelling write. take care badge
  13. Great title, fab ending, and much to chew on. best badge
  14. Thank you Tink. It is lovely that the poem connected for you. best badge
  15. Thanks Tony. There is someting I quite like about this too. best Phil