These are poems about catastrophes and (hopefully) recovering from them. The greatest disasters include losing a loved one and feeling alone, alienated and friendless.
I love melancholic poems and write them myself, so this post was quite a treasure trove for me. You possess a rare ability to adequately convey just about every emotion known to mankind in a way that is profoundly beautiful and inexplicably moving. One of my favorite poems in this grouping is “After the Deluge”, which I had never read prior to seeing it here. I especially love the closing lines:
I now wilt in pale beams
of her occult remembrance.
Unbelievable, Mike! By the way, I was tickled to see my new email signature in this grouping. 😉 Few poets can come remotely close to rivaling Basho.
In yet another synchronicity, earlier today I emailed you "After the Deluge" to see if you might be interested in publishing it. If I ever rivaled Basho, for just a line or two, I can die a happy man! You will have to email me so I can see the signature you chose.
Michael, you can write some of the most gentle and tender poems ever. I especially enjoyed and identified with the one about your grandfather. When I was a child, we would drive almost every weekend to my mother's parents home, a dairy farm near Liberty, MS. When my dad's parents moved nearby after my Papaw's journey as a preacher, pastor and overseer was over, I was able to have both. All this was liberally gifted with aunts, uncles and cousins. What golden days they were. Also, many of your poems had breezes of Dylan Thomas flowing through them. AND-your middle initial (R) definitely stands for Russia.
Robert, I'm glad you find my poems gentle and tender. One of my upcoming posts is titled
"The Gentle Cycle." I will dedicate it to you.
Dylan Thomas is one of my influences, especially "Fern Hill" and "Poem in October." My poem "Myth" won a Dylan Thomas poetry contest a few years ago.
The grandfather I wrote "Salat Days" about was a part-time preacher. He would preach at black churches where his grandkids were the only other white people in the churches.
I love melancholic poems and write them myself, so this post was quite a treasure trove for me. You possess a rare ability to adequately convey just about every emotion known to mankind in a way that is profoundly beautiful and inexplicably moving. One of my favorite poems in this grouping is “After the Deluge”, which I had never read prior to seeing it here. I especially love the closing lines:
I now wilt in pale beams
of her occult remembrance.
Unbelievable, Mike! By the way, I was tickled to see my new email signature in this grouping. 😉 Few poets can come remotely close to rivaling Basho.
In yet another synchronicity, earlier today I emailed you "After the Deluge" to see if you might be interested in publishing it. If I ever rivaled Basho, for just a line or two, I can die a happy man! You will have to email me so I can see the signature you chose.
Michael, you can write some of the most gentle and tender poems ever. I especially enjoyed and identified with the one about your grandfather. When I was a child, we would drive almost every weekend to my mother's parents home, a dairy farm near Liberty, MS. When my dad's parents moved nearby after my Papaw's journey as a preacher, pastor and overseer was over, I was able to have both. All this was liberally gifted with aunts, uncles and cousins. What golden days they were. Also, many of your poems had breezes of Dylan Thomas flowing through them. AND-your middle initial (R) definitely stands for Russia.
Blessings,
Bobby
Robert, I'm glad you find my poems gentle and tender. One of my upcoming posts is titled
"The Gentle Cycle." I will dedicate it to you.
Dylan Thomas is one of my influences, especially "Fern Hill" and "Poem in October." My poem "Myth" won a Dylan Thomas poetry contest a few years ago.
The grandfather I wrote "Salat Days" about was a part-time preacher. He would preach at black churches where his grandkids were the only other white people in the churches.