(i)
Mother, crawl your eyes over
flames of specks left after a fire.
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Eat them, sip them peeking at Adam and Eve in a star-lit garden of roses flipping over in red and white butterfly wings. really a very fine poem. wonderful images with inner meanings. tony
I don't pretend to understand the whole thing, or if that is the point, but the imagery and words are immaculate. This deserves to be in a real poet book, with thousands more readers to digest the imagination of this writers kaleidoscopic mind. I wish more people would comment on this work, I could read this again and again. This is marvelous art. Well deserved sir! .
This is horrible stuff! Have you Earthlings sunk so low that you can actually praise garbage like this? And I thought this was a POETRY site, not a garbage dump!
Robert Murray Smith is my real name. And I does have the small weiner
Great imagery. Poetry of the imagist: oblique and alive images.
The storm! ! ! Plastic wings of daylight. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Excellent poem. Congratulations being POD