Thursday, June 01, 2006

poetry thursday
Emily, at Thirteen

Beneath the shell
of her white-rust swing-set
the tracks of birds
are an ancient alphabet -
Phoenician letters
on rice-paper sand,
growing random in ways
only birds understand.

posted by Carl Bryant @ 12:09 PM   13 comments Literary Shirts

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At 5:51 PM, Blogger Arlene said...

this is beautiful, carl -- what a tender tribute to emily. hope she appreciates ;)




At 6:01 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

I hope so, Arlene. Emily's poetry tends to be much more emotional and complex than my own.

The poor child suffers from brilliance and depression.



At 6:10 PM, Blogger Pris said...

I don't know Emily, but what a beautiful poem.



At 9:20 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

Thanks, Pris!

Emily is my eldest child.



At 9:50 PM, Blogger wendylou who? said...

growing random in ways
only birds understand

very cool couple of lines. bravo



At 1:25 PM, Blogger Beau Blue said...

This is very nice. It could use three more 8 line stanzas, you know. Thirteen is so much bigger than 8 tiny lines.


There was an email of mine to you on the 25th concerning the cafe that you ignored. Boooooooooooo!



At 4:03 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

beau, I only received one email - the one you copied to ella mccrystal, jaimes alsop, and others - announcing the publication of Ms. Bass to the cafe.

I visited the cafe several times, and commented on her work within your blog. Was there another email?



At 6:53 PM, Blogger Beau Blue said...

I'll resend it




At 7:47 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

Still nothing, Beau.

Is your name in the header?



At 12:46 PM, Blogger Beau Blue said...

how about now?




At 12:51 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

Received and replied, Beau.



At 8:41 PM, Blogger C. E. Laine said...

gorgeous write...



At 2:45 PM, Blogger Carl Bryant said...

Thanks for stopping by, CE.

It was nice of you to comment.



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