Old Pictures Poem by Sandra Fowler
Old Pictures
Clouds hang old pictures on the wavering air,
Like wine wallpaper threadbare to the light.
Cold leaves cut shadows on the poet's cheek.
The clarity is bell like to the bone.
The sun pulls down the heavy cloth of sky,
Muffles the scissor sound of rising wind.
One red bird burns upon the rim of dark.
God knows what name would bring him winging back.
Previously published, 'Appalachian Heritage'
Thank you Sandra. A phrase like: 'the scissor sound of rising wind' Phew! So wonderful. Bill Grace
Every line quivers with overtones of life force. Intoxicating to the senses.
Your poems shimmer with aching beauty, yet never neglect content (meaning, feeling) ... Thank you. Esther xx
Well done work, the way you've wrote this poem really inspires me!
Sandra, You are a master painter of poetic imagery in words! 10+ =Raj
you paint with words, and your images are so evocative. although here there are no rhymes, but still the poem has music and rhythm. every time i read any of your poems, i just hang on to each line, amazing vision.10 Mamta
The clarity of your images continues to astonish in this mesmerizing piece that paints, with light and grace, the last rays of the setting sun. 'The clarity is bell like to the bone.' and 'the scissor sound of rising wind.' are particularly evocative metaphors. Superb. love, Alison ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/6/2025 8:35:25 PM # 1.0.0
Picturesque, absolutely beautiful, a painted picture in words. You are amazing Sandra, I love your work. Melvina