It’s probably the botanist to me but on one level I read this as the trepidation of the newcomer (Homo sapiens) treading into primeval Nature. The ancient Appalachian forests have always given me that sense, and when I am within their depths I expect to be confronted by woolly mammoths or some other great beast. We can feel naked in places such as this. On another level, it reminds me of how alone we are, even while amid our loved ones. The sparce use of words fits with the feeling of being overwhelmed by things so timeless, things that could care less about us.
The disinterest of the natural world can be overwhelming though I suppose we mirror that with our de.. read moreThe disinterest of the natural world can be overwhelming though I suppose we mirror that with our destructive impulses where nature is concerned. I enjoy contemplating ancient things, especially those that have had a longer existence than humans. Montessori education has a timeline of life that puts into perspective our time on earth in comparison to life itself. It is sobering to realize how much damage we have done in such a short time. Thanks for your comments. Always appreciated
3 Months Ago
I appreciate those thoughts. There is a Dawn Redwood in the courtyard outside my office. Most of my .. read moreI appreciate those thoughts. There is a Dawn Redwood in the courtyard outside my office. Most of my students seem unimpressed whenever I tell them that it is a remnant of the Mesozoic era, whose ancestors give us the coal we burn.
3 Months Ago
Yeah, I find it difficult to impress my students (my children) as well.
E,
A mysterious poem . . . I feel a sense of foreboding . . . like I don't belong here . . . Time and place have shifted for me quite unexpectedly . . . These characters startle me as I come upon them, but they offer to companionship.
T
Posted 5 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
5 Years Ago
Your intuitive sense about the scene is kind of what I felt when writing this. A lot of my older poe.. read moreYour intuitive sense about the scene is kind of what I felt when writing this. A lot of my older poems are more about conveyance of mood or mindset rather than story. This is one of them, so I’m glad to read how that came through for you.
Nice to hear from you today, Tom. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on this.
Your poem reminds me of how we might walk into a forest & get one impression . . . like maybe the place feels haunted or desolate or something like that. But as we spend time in this forest, more & more the warm complex personality of the place emerges & our first impressions fall by the wayside. A great analogy for how it can be, entering any unknown situation (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie
Posted 5 Years Ago
1 of 1 people found this review constructive.
5 Years Ago
I love your interpretation of this, Margie. This is an older one and a lot of my older poems are ver.. read moreI love your interpretation of this, Margie. This is an older one and a lot of my older poems are very obtuse so I mostly don’t post them. I actually posted this one because I read one on Gram’s page the other day that reminded me of this.
Thanks for your visit and insights. I always enjoy reading what you see in a poem.
5 Years Ago
Gram has inspired me lately -- his gruff & frank remarks about how my writing comes across have bump.. read moreGram has inspired me lately -- his gruff & frank remarks about how my writing comes across have bumped me out of my comfortable zone!
5 Years Ago
I love being jarred out of the comfortable place with my writing. It’s fun to see where the new pa.. read moreI love being jarred out of the comfortable place with my writing. It’s fun to see where the new path leads.
5 Years Ago
I inspire no - one, not even my self, how very dare the both of you, I used to call you friends, now.. read moreI inspire no - one, not even my self, how very dare the both of you, I used to call you friends, now I call you rends, lol, only choking,
Gone (Ruth Stone)
Now fragmented as any bomb,
I make no lasting pattern;
and my ear not cut off
in the logic of a van Gogh,
an offering of angry love,
is merely blown to bits
in a passing .. more..