Carl's Tiny Brain

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 12 comments Literary Shirts

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12 Comments:

At 5:51 PM, Arlene said...

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

a.

At 6:01 PM, 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, Pris said...

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

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

Thanks, Pris!

Emily is my eldest child.

At 9:50 PM, wendy said...

growing random in ways
only birds understand

very cool couple of lines. bravo

At 1:25 PM, 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.

-blue

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

At 4:03 PM, 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, Beau Blue said...