Edges

My friend a man with a view has an interesting spin on things. Until recently I did not read nor write poetry, not at all. I had this pre set, red neck bigotry as far as poetry was concerned. Needless to say my views are changing, although I still get twinge every time I read my own writing. It is hard to put it out there, to expose the edges of my soul in such a way, with no control over who can see them or how they will be taken; this exposure is good and exciting and very unnerving. Having said that I would like to share a poem that was penned in response to a poem that I penned in response to a poem he shared on his blog(he wrote this one and also the first one if you didnt catch my drift).

Thanks man.


The Edge Of The World

I cannot show you
this shore, these breakers thrashing
the sandy chaos,
roiling far more than
buried life can bear for long,
the rocks upthrust, sharp,
with small damp caverns
and craters where wild things grow.
The edge of the world
is damp and salty,
like dilute new blood, pale light
like early morning.

http://northernwall.blogspot.com/2011/07/call-grieving-god-reprise.html