Dangling Poem by Richard Bunch

Dangling

Rating: 5.0


At the mercy of the wood warp
of indecision, between the famine
within and a compass without range,
I still dance in a sea penciled with despair
for I have learned to float
by not always trying to fly
with every dandelion self that gusts.

In this field of tenderness
like some classic gesture, I catch the moon
at its crossing and wait
for a tide steeped with the naming
of ecstasy.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Pia Andersson 08 November 2009

'In this field of tenderness like some classic gesture, I catch the moon at its crossing and wait for a tide steeped with the naming of ecstasy. ' painfully beautiful words from you Pia

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Rachel Butler 20 September 2009

In this field of tenderness like some classic gesture, I catch the moon Rachel Ann Butler

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Jurietta Duraan 07 June 2008

Very interesting, deep poem.... sensual.. a sense of anticipation of MORE? I like it.

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