Welcome to Shards of Silver

Marianne Moore once defined 'poetry' as "Imaginary gardens with real toads in them". I found this such a striking definition of something that captures the values of poetry that I couldn't leave it alone.

I've been writing - attempting - poetry since I knew how to hold a pen(cil). Some poems I write I like, most I don't, but every now and then I feel compelled to write them down, like a flush of emotion that demands access to some sort of visible medium that can later be accessed and reconsidered. I thought, maybe, that sharing these poems could help me out a little. I welcome critiques, critical and constructive (though I do, of course reserve the right to ignore the sharper sides of people's tongues ;) ), and hope that in return for your help I can leave you with something better than sorry attempts at a craft which only a tiny few have ever really mastered.

Clear Skies~V

Friday, July 29, 2011

Winter Is Not Yet Gone

The drifter by the newstand looks up,
No chance of rain on this Sunday morning,
Perhaps a ray of sunshine will warm his sleep,
Before the cold of night sets in and reminds him
That winter is not yet gone.

She lays in the sunfilled window sil,
In silence to dream her sunlit dreams,
She's a cat and she has no cares,
Only the knowledge that it does not matter
That winter is not yet gone.

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