Raindrops on your eyelids
a sip of fine wine
the sound of the ocean,
all combined
The love of life
the love in life
the love of a child
the love of a wife
Childhood dreams melt away
like frost on a sunny day,
friends come and go
family always stay
The wind in your hair
the clouds overhead
wishing you had wings-
left with arms instead
See, now, I may take a lot of guff for this, but for my money, that’s the kind of poetry I’d like to see more of. It’s balanced somewhere between sad and happy, it reads like butter, being neither purple, nor puzzling, nor bludgeoning with hyperbole or inebriated, youthful overkill and it has truth I can identify with. The rhyming and structure is simple and innocent, I’m not sure it conforms to any academically accepted approach, but it gets the job done. And it’s deceptively creative. Nice work. Left with arms, indeed. A-
G
A very fair critique of a poem I’ve never shared. Of course, I’m no poet, after all I’ve written all of two poems in my life. A nice complement coming from a writer as good as Gamer is all the more gratifying.
Normally a poet would say their childhood dreams were the sunlight and the realities of life that destroyed it was the frost, but you did the opposite, which is compelling. It made me see how common, delicate and temporary our childhood dreams are, like a tapestry of crystals, each unique, glistening and ephemeral as can be – how easily and painlessly they disintegrate into the beckoning warmth of mundane felicity that goes with adult awareness and responsibility, which also has its own joys. It has a middling feeling that’s honest, airy and real.