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Pigeons at the end of winter (Lyric) by mikejedw Their molt is snowing from the brownstone ledge
when, suddenly, they burst against the air
and flutter into this week's milder wind.
The flock of fat gray birds are thunder clouds;
their wings, in chorus, like an echoed storm.
Up the ladder:
I hope it hurts
Down the ladder:
Castle Psyche'
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 5.4210525
Posted: May 10, 2002 7:09 AM PDT; Last modified: May 10, 2002 7:09 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.401084 Overall Rank: 3174 Comments:
[6]...
anonymous @ 206.132.30.234
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13-May-02/9:43 AM
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Reply
The people who voted 3 for this poem are clearly idiots. Probably responsible for the most of the lame-ass juvenile shit on this site. At least this poem dealing with a tangible. I give it a 9. - Aduren
I agree with Aduren... you are a poet Mike no doubt for a second.
but this isn't up to your best .. the last two lines don't reach anywhere for me.. I love the first three!!! well, not quite .. I think it's the last line, it doesn't really resolve or say anything new. what a wonderful opening line especially though... a pleasure to read you ..
A bit like Lord Byron, excellent
hmm, i wish this sort of poetry interested me so i could praise this poem, but i do not connect, sorry, the porn star sonnet was a slam dunk though
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