Here, the Mississippi carved its mud-dark path,
a graveyard for skeletons of sunken riverboats.
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Congratulations for being chosen this poem as the modern poem of the poem of the day for second time.
History and historical monuments nicely portrayed
2) So many beautiful poems I am gonna read and will know more about that darkest period in the USA History, white and black history. Thank you so much for sharing. A 10 FULL Score for this amazing poem. toMyPoemList!
Every spring— Pilgrimage—the living come to mingle with the dead, brush against their cold shoulders in the long hallways, listen all night to their silence.........................Mesmerizing Tribute to Pilgrimage, dear great and famous Poetess Natasha! CONGRATULATIONS on being chosen as The Modern Poem Of The Day. You most deserved it.
I can see her listening to shells explode, writing herself into history, asking what is to become of all the living things in this place? This whole city is a grave. a great poem. tony
Beneath a heavy arm! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Well executed. Beautiful poem. Thanks and congratulations for being selected this poem as the poem of the day.
Gentle meandering through consciousness that a terrible war happened on these banks of the Mississippi, she'd rather just experience the natural beauty of, but the ghosts and facts of history dominate her consciousness- even in her fantasy imagination; she still experiences near a flash back of a woman experiencing bombs in the Civil War- intriguing and genuine.
Very nice. Enjoyed. Thanks for sharing. Loved the twists and turns of the events.
Past events remembered with emotion. Nice write
We do need the accounts of events written by historians, written with facts well researched. But oh how dry and forgettable are these cold unmoving accounts. Add an account written by a poet and history lives again and we feel the tumult and pain of the events. History should always include poetry in MHO
A window frames the river's crawl toward the Gulf. In my dream, the ghost of history lies down beside me, rolls over, pins me beneath a heavy arm... graveyard of skeletons and sunken river boats. the white and black, , aparthed. did times change anything. these prejudices remain now also. tony