Bright water, sun water, sluicing round
Grey rock...
Grey mists, gay mists, bouncing back
As rain on
...
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I love the language in this poem. Its syncopated rhythm and assonance strengthen the tough realities at the central core of the poem.
Do believe that Ms. Elysabeth could make anything work, shes that brillant! Best wishes, Elysabeth, Theo
Talking to a rock? Your poem makes it work. More than work. I too would like to interview these 'inner occupants.' You have already done it for me and raised questions for the reader to ponder. Thank you. Tom
pointing to the sound of the rocks in the river, i think rimbaud got me to listen, nice piece elysabeth, as always i leave you thinking