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No More Autumn Poems (Edit) (Other) by Sasha

Now that there’s sweeping on the grass and leaves lie dumped beside the roads, the shaken, cold and unclad trees can have no need of Autumn Odes. What voice could sing in joy of death to those who cyclically die? More leaves are reddening the ground. Branches are limp and dry So, seeing leaves let down from boughs like petals from a twisted stem, I sing no more than needed for a requiem.

INTRANSIT 22-Aug-05/9:56 AM
I find myself leaning toward Mr. Pound whenever he suggests poetry MUST have music, to be true poetry. The one thing I keep coming back to is the lack of music in most of my poems. I think that it is the ONE thing keeping me from growing. Any time I DO have music, it seems forced. Maybe I should study music for a while, no? Thanks for your time.




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