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Poetry > Misfit Magazine

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message 1: by Ruth (new)

Ruth | 1960 comments Hi everyone. This seems to be my week to be plastered all over the net. I have three poems in the latest Misfit Magazine—Into the Wind, I Can’t Remember, and Alterations.

Click here to go directly to my poem: http://misfitmagazine.net/archive/No-...

And here for the table of contents: http://misfitmagazine.net/current.html


message 2: by Heather (new)

Heather | 8545 comments Yay Ruth! I have to get to work but look forward to checking out those links later. Thank you for sharing!


message 3: by Heather (new)

Heather | 8545 comments I'm reading your poems now, Ruth.

Into the Wind is an interesting title for the poem which doesn't discuss wind at all, or does it? If I haven't said it before, I love your imagery. Is there a different meaning in this title maybe that 'blew' (pun intended) over my head?


message 4: by Heather (new)

Heather | 8545 comments The second one, I Can’t Remember is really good!

I love the phrase
"your breaths, gasping
now, the music of death flowing..."

in that gasps are audible and the word 'music' you use emphasizes this in an eloquent, almost 'melodious' (if death can be eloquent) sound.

Also,
" the sunlight
silent in the air
"
as it insinuates (to me) that death is a 'silence' of life gone. Thus, the music has stopped
"...when your hand grew cold."

The short, contrite lines of this poem are all inclusive from the dying to the death in only a few phrases. Love it!


message 5: by Heather (new)

Heather | 8545 comments Alterations was unexpected. Again, your imagery is amazing! Then I didn't see that last line coming, but the wording before it

"Black blankets
are sewn over all the windows.


seem to leave the last line to the conclusion of the reader. What happened? Obviously, 'he' isn't there anymore as described by the building. "Black Blankets", death?

I know many of your poems are personal, from your own experiences and life, I hope I'm not 'dissecting' something completely unintended by what you write. Like art, I find some poetry left to the imagination of the reader as much as it is not completely disclosed by the writer.


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