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|Reviewed by D. Vaineo
|Nice to have you back, Kate. Whatever happens it is " Still Life. "
Enjoyed like always.
|Reviewed by jude forese
|astute observations, complimented by crystallized images make a coherent complication, detailing a slice of a surrounding THIS concourse you have traversed ...|
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|You have been missed, but now you are found. And the poem you have posted is quite profound. I sense a bit of alcohol and pancreatic concern in this still life of life. I hope I'm wrong.
|Reviewed by Jon Willey
|Your mind, a giant camera intently focused on any surrounding and then, you share the same with picture perfect verse. 'Still Life' brought to several levels above perfect animation with your descriptors. Thanks for sharing your marvelous observations with me. It is so good to read your work again. May peace and love be always with you my dear friend. Jon Michael|
|Reviewed by Edward Phillips
|Vivid, adroit use of language.
Ah, but you're English, and that is half the battle. :)
|Reviewed by Budd Nelson
|wondeful visions painted here with your well chosen words
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|I love the imagery and the thoughts and emotions that your words awaken, Kate. Thank you for sharing this unique experience as seen through your eyes. Love and best wishes to you,
|Reviewed by Rafika Anderson
|Ah, lovely London, so nicely captured in your poem, Kate. I love the poignant opening refrain, the exquisite imagery throughout, and the deep contrasts between dark and light, animate and inanimate. Wonderful effort!|
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|"goes on. Gently folding
and refolding quiet hands"
THIS is the poem. These two lines says it all. History is bound to repeat itself and all we seem to be able to do about it is capsuled within these lines. Good to see you again, Kate.
|Reviewed by Odin Roark
|The chosen words so deftly placed, arouse in the reader both the magic of imagination and the reality of all good things have their counter, the maintenance that could interrupt, doesn't. The floating baggage no longer needed, for the moment, the possible memories dreaming through the "quiet hands." Lovely imaging. Took me back to Paris.|
|Reviewed by RWEHAVING FUN
|Still life goes on without repeating itself, or rewinding to hit play again, or some such anachronistic reiteration, there among the detritus, among some other deterrent, "among some talk of you and me," these unselfconscious things, petty, paltry or petulant, among this and that bric a brac, as the self is formed, sans clutter, amid the clatter of cleats on some green field, they'll yet be reciting this fine poem, Ms. Burnside, where life is still life.|
|Reviewed by Amor Sabor
|So nice to see you posting again, Kate Excellent work|