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| Reviewed by Joyce Bell |
8/15/2009 |
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LEEWAY...IT DOES DO WONDERS FOR THE ARTISTICAL SENSES...DOESN'T IT?
GREAT WRITE. THANKS FOR SHARING AND GOD BLESS.
JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS |
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| Reviewed by ~ H (Reader) |
6/15/2009 |
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| What a great writer you are. Excellent work! Love Holly |
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| Reviewed by Charlie |
5/13/2009 |
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Delicious last line, Axilea.
I love the way the poem begins as well-- all those luscious, liquid l's and s's ...alliterations all over, and slant-rhymed endings.
But the best part of all, is the atmosphere of trusted freedom-- a poem to rellish. --Charlie |
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| Reviewed by Cryssa C |
5/5/2009 |
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There is a soft feel to this poem...and for some reason reminded me of Charlie, as she set aside her pen for a time to prepare for those moments to come when she could hold her daughter in her arms. There is nostalgia and joy and peace within this poem as well...
Cryssa |
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| Reviewed by Keyvan Sayar |
5/2/2009 |
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| Beautiful poem |
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| Reviewed by Kate Burnside |
5/1/2009 |
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| ... space... more room for those better moments yet to come! Excellent! :)) And I like the highways, the gardens and deserts portrayed on the backs of the hands, rather than the lines of the palms (interesting shadowing of thoughts here). As it happens, I'm just about to post a little poem about a bench... I think! Not nearly in the same category or register as this honed write, though! Very nice voice to this one, Axilea. Hope you're well and rested. Kate xx |
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| Reviewed by David Hightower |
4/30/2009 |
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Axilea - wonderful images and sound in this poem of creativity. It forms a cycle from the meditative:
Those circuits on the surface of life
slight lines, paths aligned
on the back of her hand
like miniature desert land
manifest sacred nature
with simple perfection
to the last stanza:
Aerial
the freedom above
and from time to time
a bench that she painted
the honeyed color of rest
Interesting and satisfying as always.
- David
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
4/29/2009 |
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"toys from yesterday
bits and pieces with no clear function"
i particularly like this image
as well as the metaphor
"visible dust set her conscience to work
celebrating the presence of the yet unseen"
and
"a bench that she painted
the honeyed color of rest"
nice work!
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| Reviewed by Elizabeth Price |
4/29/2009 |
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| Beatiful metaphor. Such imagery. Excellent. Liz |
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| Reviewed by L. Figgins |
4/28/2009 |
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| Clutter clutters the mind. A Feng Shui write that I can appreciate. "...more room for those better moments yet to come" I like the way you take us from the spiritual to the physical and back again. In and out expressing the interconnectiveness of the two realities. Very fine, Axilea...Lin |
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| Reviewed by Dawn Wilson |
4/26/2009 |
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| You use metaphors so beautifully in your writing, Axilea. Your fourth stanza is perfection...but then again, so is the entire poem. |
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| Reviewed by John Flanagan |
4/26/2009 |
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Axilea,
This is process and construction with, as Gina says, "a soft feel", and I love the sheer fluency of the work, the absence, save for ln 2, of punctuation allowing the flow undisturbed or inhibited.
John |
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| Reviewed by Gene Williamson |
4/26/2009 |
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Metaphorically and philosophically, you've packed a lot
of thought and hope and skill into just a few lovely stanzas,
Axilea. Especially in these lines:
Space
more room
for those better moments yet to come
while her hands are busy
with the writing of today
shaping with fingers and breath
the new material
-gene. |
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| Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis |
4/26/2009 |
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| I like the soft feel to this poem. It is highly relatable as it moves and meanders through one's thoughts. I am drawn toward "manifest", "sacred", "celebrating the presence of the yet unseen" and "shaping with fingers and breath the new material." I enjoyed the metaphysical thread you carefully wove to this piece. |
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| Reviewed by Dale Clark |
4/26/2009 |
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| A joy to read, fine pen, Axilea! |
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
4/26/2009 |
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As much a retrospect as anything else. Enjoyed.
Ron |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
4/26/2009 |
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Enjoyed and travelled along the path your words took in this one Axilea, liked the images of broken toys especially, remembering how in childhood our toyboxes seemed to always end up with bits and pieces of toys no longer even there and as this poem suggests so does life often seem this way when we take a look around us.
Fee |
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