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

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Through the Enemy's Garden

We walked without direction
Through the enemy's garden,
Hand in hand through darkness.
A waking dream of endlessness;
A field of stars and flowers.
Lifted in a world of colored light
All through the enemy's garden.
Not a word nor whisper
For here no murmur may pass
To disturb the eternal sleeper
So walk without direction
Through the enemy's garden
And wander forever and on and on
Hand in hand and beyond.
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