Whisper Killed Poem by Sandra Fowler
Whisper Killed
My hand is still in yours. A distant leaf
Lies whisper killed upon the rigid grass.
Frost clinks like ice against the window glass.
When will monotony give us relief?
The blue line of the sill is set in stone.
The artificiality of cold
Rims hills with the precision of its gold.
Touch seems to help the glory hold its own.
The wind is startling to stiff twilight,
The disembodied tree limbs scrape and sigh,
Against a vast infinitude of sky.
Hands tighten on the sheer edge of the night.
an unsettling moment lingers about this movement of twilight into night. excellent balance and flow, Sandra. a very worthwhile read. also, happy PH birthday to you. -Tailor
Sandra, your gift, in part, is that of voicing what those of us who cannot wish to, need to... I love you dearly for this and more. This poem aches and embraces. Your art is such that I cannot be jealous - - only joyful! Love, Esther : ] P.S. The window imagery, among other things, reminds me of Emily Dickenson's world within...
What an imagination my dear friend. You placed the verses from well ingrained thoughts and feelings. A perfect 10 for you.
Nature has ‘come-alive-live’… Enjoyed to the lees and thanks… Ten+ Ms. Nivedita UK
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful... as stunningly usual.
this got Sandra flower flavor written all over indeed ma'am.. i enjoyed it as always.. just randomly picked this one and read it.. and you know what ma'am.. the title was an intriguing one.. that's why i wanted to read this one! ! ! ! ! ... good thing u changed the title is nt it.. this is nice write.... with lots of love shan
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 4:25:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
a very imaged filled piece which flows exceptionally well with tenderness within your words so very well descriptively written very very well done, , , blessings..Cecil