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A Woman's Art
by
Axilea M Uzumcuoglu
Saturday, September 05, 2009
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Arms, branches, embraces,
wrapped up in the reviving wind -
winding fusion under the sun’s
warm complicity -
a woman and a tree.
Her face lights up,
a fiery peach at sundown,
the wind is almost quiet
when thousands of leaves
dance and caress
her tree, her body.
In dark hours,
she creates…
so boughs bear fruits
fuller, heavier -
night after night,
the invisible movement
of growth.
Until the moment
I see the fruit
that she cups
in her rough hands;
a pounding pomegranate,
a heartfruit that opens
and bleeds…
I follow the flow:
when time becomes weightless
and carmine paint on the canvas
shines at her feet,
I sense her smile.
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| Reviewed by Jen Knox |
10/13/2009 |
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"and carmine paint on the canvas
shines at her feet,
I sense her smile"... a lovely ending. |
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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
9/28/2009 |
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Truly fine poetry; thank you for sharing your gift, Axilea. Love, peace, and best wishes,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by Mekael Shane |
9/17/2009 |
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| Axilea, this piece of poetry is "beyond-beyond". While reading it, I felt like I was watching a woman caught up in the joyous throse of her everyday being, the simple complexities of her living, and since I Love women, I couldn't help but to fall in Love with this music. |
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| Reviewed by Dawn Wilson |
9/9/2009 |
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| A woman's art... captured with such beauty. You know, Axilea, often after reading your work, I take a deep breath...or maybe sigh a little...it's that good. |
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| Reviewed by David Hightower |
9/9/2009 |
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Axilea - An elegantly woven poem in which nature, humanity, creativity, even night and day become one:
Arms, branches, embraces,
wrapped up in the reviving wind -
winding fusion under the suns
warm complicity -
a woman and a tree.
and time disappears:
when time becomes weightless
and carmine paint on the canvas
shines at her feet,
I sense her smile.
- David
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| Reviewed by Cryssa C |
9/8/2009 |
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Your poetry winds its way through and always leaves me feeling as though there is that elusive hidden meaning locked inside...It is a beautiful feeling though! :~)
Cryssa |
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| Reviewed by Debra Baker |
9/7/2009 |
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Axilea
Poetic justice at its best...Simply captivating and beautifully constructed.... |
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| Reviewed by Dale Clark |
9/7/2009 |
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the beauty shines through this 'woman's art'
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| Reviewed by Christine Alwin |
9/7/2009 |
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| such peace, beauty and strength in your art..very nice! |
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| Reviewed by John Flanagan |
9/6/2009 |
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Axilea,
Crafted and layered, a carving of personal vision...limbs of tree and human fuse, are one and the same; we are with branches after all and share living and breathing...but there is here, too, what is unique to female gender: conception, carrying, giving birth. It isn't a question of covering so much ground as evoking it exquisitely. I love this poem, one of your finest.
John |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
9/6/2009 |
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Ah to see your name under a title to me equates with quality and this prose is no exception, beautifully done my friend...
hugs
fee |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
9/6/2009 |
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| this poem encapsulates the natural art of this woman's spirit ... |
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| Reviewed by Charlie |
9/6/2009 |
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Graceful and full. I think she felt somewhat like I do--smug at the thought of producing something so beautiful, and at her age, too! :)
I love trees. I think birch trees are my favorites this year. Poplars are all chatty, and plum trees are kind of frumpy and motherly, but birch trees-- they're so...so sheltering, not in a weepy way, like willows, but graceful and sweet, like my mother.
July came in August this year,
and the birch trees...
the birch trees are wilting.
They cut off her arm,
where her leaves went numb,
and shaved her lover's rakish hair.
and the white of her bark
was left with the mark of
paper-peeling scars, sap-bleeding.
I put my arms around her middle
and will her to make it through this cruel summer,
because July--
it came in August this year,
and the birch trees--
the birch trees are wilting. |
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| Reviewed by Steve Chering |
9/5/2009 |
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| almost coded, but I saw it easy enough. well done. |
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