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Stopped Cold (Ode) by coldiron Whose woods are these?
I may be lost
Tracing footsteps of Robert Frost.
Did he stride here or over there?
He must have damn well stopped somewhere!
Dour colossus of the page
Granted a serene old age,
But not for me, poor bitter serf
Gleaning nuggets from his turf.
Up the ladder:
tone-deaf or color-blind
Down the ladder:
Whispers among me
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Arithmetic Mean: 9.0
Posted: February 5, 2007 10:32 AM PST; Last modified: February 5, 2007 10:32 AM PSTWeighted score: 5.1897035 Overall Rank: 4740 Comments:
This is very good. Reminded me of the time I was in Chios, made a trip to sit on Homerâs stone. Great view there (closed my eyes, tried to hear some sirens singing - only nagging kids, a mother yelling. The sea).
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Heâs one of the few poets who never fool around, never stick in a silly piece out of boredom, and almost always say at least two worthwhile truths in every line. His writing is dark, or dour as you say, if you wish to see it darkly, or not see the light. I hope only to approach his weight and buoyancy, two forces acting oppositely, where a small nudge makes all the difference.
Good reflection.