I was high at a lake.

Forlorn hymns flushed by with a grim wind,

slowly skipping atop the water where I jumped in.

The whispered words vibrations return and start again,

leaving the hairs by my ears artistically singed.

The mud's movements mimic a trap,

and the seaweed softly caresses my back,

trying to continue the tide turns me away,

returning to the shore that's now covered in black.

The stars are in the water, every single one,

and the moon is there too realizing what's been done.

A fake has been made so the water bore a ripple,

disrupting the fake, revealing the original.

Friends were far away, but one came near.

Asking him of actions which he was unaware.

Sad and content, gave a sarcastic, classic reply.

Sat by a cricket, and Focused on the sky.

Reviews

[Eilis]

I like that your titles give something away, but also they help me to be surprised by the heart of the poem.

There’s depth. It’s like the world opening up in front of someone who has seen it, but never seen it at the same time.

Lovely rhythm to this one. I like that the title almost acts as a foil by making it seem as though the subject can be easily delineated.

The carefulness of the crafting makes me think of the act of creation itself. How creation is both intention and inspiration.

It is difficult for creative work to have a heart if one or the other is lacking. I thought this poem had an excellent balance.

Much enjoyed reading your work today.

[Jacob Baca]

Very encouraging! thank you!