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Poetry Magnum Opus



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I am fixed here on this peak like a
wax tear on a candle, the climber above
does not hear me or mercury calling,
he tempts the primal rocky plume to approve
our advance, which one of us is frozen
in this tear on my eyelash, for death ice
is the most valid currency given.
To scale a rose thorn by thorn; a cornice
crown is blown, we arm wrestle winds-erecting
a tent, the testing ascent marinates the
primitive scent of coruscating fear. Spring
on the mountain, I dream of winter's spree
of sunshine on the country lanes where I
live and walk planning journeys with my ally.

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Fascinating subject matter in a piece you have left open to interpretation. I liked "we arm wrestle winds- erecting a tent," the subtle use of in-line rhymes and enjambment works well for me . I also found a relative comfort to identify with in the contrast of your last three lines..."I dream of winter's spree etc."

I read today (Mont Blanc) that 20 men and women have been killed since the climbing season started. B.

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