| Author | Message | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1315 Registered: 11-2003 |
Geordie’s Kitchen In Inverness it is ten degrees this morning. Somewhere, a baker is laying out dough to fold into scones for early commuters. The woodstove snaps hard oak, dried for a year and stored beneath a tarpaulin. We sit at a table talking; the rough edges of a voice I have to pour over ice to understand. We hold hands because we like the closeness. His work-roughened fingers make mine close up like snow-drops. He can tell they are cold and blows on them. We could live here forever in this forgotten farmhouse where I cannot understand the language. The old dog snores in a corner behind a pile of favorite books that someday Geordie will teach me how to read. I ask if it’s all right if I open a jar from last summer’s cellar. The tartness of late apples will taste good on a crumbly leftover scone. We reheat coffee, finish the last dregs of conversation until his thick woolly voice nudges us to bed. | ||
| Emusing
Moderator Username: emusing Post Number: 2039 Registered: 08-2003 |
Laurie, there's a peaceful aspect to this country scene that is very enticing. The soft end makes me think this is a series of poems in Inverness or could be. E | ||
| Bren
Advanced Member Username: bren Post Number: 1140 Registered: 12-2001 |
Hi Laurie, This feels and smells warm to me, very restful and that's why I like it. I know the first line sets the place but I wonder if you really need it? I always enjoy your poems very much.  Bren PenShells | ||
| Gary Blankenship
Senior Member Username: garyb Post Number: 5346 Registered: 07-2001 |
Most poets would give both arms to write a line as good as of a voice I have to pour over ice to understand. Keep the first line and prepare for this to be on the short list. Smiles and more. Gary btw, the end, with the apples, conversation, bed sigh The Eye of the Coming Storm http://www.mindfirerenew.com/ | ||
| ~M~
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 5600 Registered: 11-1998 |
Very different from your usual style, Laurie. Soft, quiet, and comforting. My favorite line was the one Mr. B quoted. Truly exemplary. | ||
| native dancer
Advanced Member Username: nativedancer Post Number: 211 Registered: 12-2004 |
i agree w/M re differences from your usual, the main one being how utterly accessible the poem is, as warm and inviting as the kitchen itself, and the two characters, so clearly drawn, so close and loving, and the linear movement of the entire piece, casual, unhurried, but headed straight for the heart. poem of the week, i'd say. jim | ||
| Dale McLain
Advanced Member Username: sparklingseas Post Number: 1492 Registered: 11-2004 |
Laurie~ Very easy and inviting. Made me think of that icy house in "Dr. Zhivago"- how they were in their own world there. This poem left me with a sweet, good feeling. take care~dale | ||
| LJ Cohen
Moderator Username: ljc Post Number: 3179 Registered: 07-2002 |
Laurie, The line Gary quoted is amazing. I love this image as well: His work-roughened fingers make mine close up like snow-drops. So evocative, as is this whole poem. Beautiful writing, Laurie. best, ljc http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/ | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1317 Registered: 11-2003 |
emusing bren gary M Jim Dale and Lisa, Thank you all so very much xo laurie | ||
| alex stolis
New member Username: alex_stolis Post Number: 42 Registered: 05-2005 |
L, you really don't need much help anymore matter of fact i think you have gotten to the point where some of this workshop stuff might be holding you back more than helping but what the f*** do i know on to the pome (Here) In Inverness it is ten degrees [this morning]. [Somewhere,] a baker is laying out dough to fold into scones for early commuters. ***good start, you have established something that says "immediate"*** The woodstove snaps hard oak, dried for a year and stored beneath a tarpaulin. We sit at a table talking; the rough edges of a voice I have to pour over ice to understand. We hold hands because we like the closeness. His work-roughened fingers make mine ***L1 of second strophe is fantastic (as you well know)but what slows e down and interferes with it is "of a voice". I seem to want something more immediate and solid...my voice, his voice, alex's voice...well, you get the idea. Would also like to see "he" replaced by "your"...seems more intimate and first person but...mebbe not*** close up like snow-drops. He can tell they are cold and blows on them. We could live here forever in this forgotten ***Like the break here*** farmhouse where I cannot understand the language. The old dog snores in a corner behind a pile of favorite books that someday ***I think the repeat of "can't understand" is too much*** Geordie will teach me how to read. [I ask if it’s all right if] I open a jar from last summer’s cellar. The tartness of late apples will taste good on a [crumbly] leftover scone. We reheat coffee, finish the last dregs of conversation until his thick woolly voice nudges us to bed. ***I like the nice quiet close*** you are cool and write beautifully and if i weren't married... ...i guess i would be single be well and as always listen to others i am listening to the offspring (Message edited by alex stolis on October 30, 2005) | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1318 Registered: 11-2003 |
hi alex, I've been away not ignoring you. Got to meet some of the poets from desert moon review. At one point I had an entourage of gorgeous men walking me down the sidewalk. Trouble is, one is a former pastor, one is married, two are gay and lagging behind carrying my books is MY husband who sighed audibly when all this became known. So if you weren't married? You'd become a monk. Perhaps a gorilla, maybe a marsupial. I'm telling you, Alex. It's my boyish figure. I shall take note of your suggestions. I wrote another Geordie poem. Prolly not as good. At the moment, I am fixated on an older man who lives far far away. What can I tell you? He's safe. He's got a neat vernacular. It's impossible. Therefore, it's perfect. peace laurie PS and if I disappear off the boards "poof" it only means that I became a monk. A marsupial, a badger. Oops I already am that. Perhaps that's why I stay. | ||
| michael julius sottak
Advanced Member Username: julius Post Number: 1703 Registered: 12-2003 |
ayaaah... you met an old New Englanda didn't you, Missy L...? quite refreshing isn't it? a fine write, darlin... | ||
| Michael MV
Senior Member Username: michaelv Post Number: 1009 Registered: 11-2003 |
In accord w/ most of Alex's perceptive observations. The poem seems ok w/ of a voice. Might consider: farmhouse the language is foreign. The old dog snores in a corner behind a pile of favorite books that someday and a comma after conversation coffee, finish the last dregs of conversation, until Best Regards MV | ||
| Christopher T George
Senior Member Username: chrisgeorge Post Number: 2791 Registered: 12-2004 |
Hi L Which one was I, the marsupial? C Editor, Desert Moon Review http://www.desertmoonreview.com/ Co-Editor, Loch Raven Review http://www.lochravenreview.com/ http://chrisgeorge.netpublish.net/ | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1322 Registered: 11-2003 |
hey jules no I like the newenglanders though, they are a bit austere thanks michael and Chris, you were the badger haha you got me to attend, didn't you? and glad... peace laurie |
