Sunday, April 15, 2012

Triplets



















The colors swirl, whirl, twirl
around the world, curled, furled.
My love was new, few, true.
Your words were flowery, towering, lowering,
the truth was ne'er to be found, sound, round.
Confusion reigned, swayed, brayed.
Shapes shifted, wafted, rafted
while the moon looked, frisked, docked.

(Written for Mag 113, 4/15/12)

10 comments:

  1. huh interesting use of repetition in this...it creates a nice sense of movement...

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  2. I agree with Brian; the rhyme makes the whole piece flow.
    Poet? I think so.

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  3. I like your play on words here. Very inventive. Especially confusion braying. Sometimes it does exactly that!

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  4. I like the internal rhymes which somehow impart a very comfortable feel to the poem.

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  5. Shape shifting certainly describes Chagall's people! Well done.

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  6. Love the twirling flow in your words! Beautiful!
    :-)

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