27 January 2014

Magpie Tales 204: Pressing of the Apple


The Mill, 1964, by Andrew Wyeth via Magpie Tales

Crow calls thump a hollow chest
toll the bell, echoes disturbs the river
Beyond the press building it flows
Shivery black water absorbing the sun

Mausoleum mask framed by panes
Porcelain eyes drift with weather
While worn wood exhales
a century's worth of apples breath

Raise the tankard, quaff the cider
Try to slake the searing thirst
besetting a fractured heart 
As her footprints blurred with snow 

15 comments:

  1. .. This is really quite amazing.

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    1. Your honor me, madam , with your kind words. Thank you for reading!

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  2. your poem placed me there admidst the sounds and sadness

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  3. Wonderful , Irish, just wonderful ~

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  4. I can smell the scent of apples from the worn wood... Wonderful. "As her footprints blurred with snow" I adore that ending.

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    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

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    2. Something about the light on the wood in that picture, and the thought of an apple shed. I'm glad you liked it.

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  5. Your stuff always has this story telling quality about it.

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    1. Story telling seems to be in my blood :)

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  6. Jeez is this ever nice. I love the line " While worn wood exhales
    a century's worth of apples breath"..a wonderful poem.

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  7. A well told tale…and only three verses to tell it.
    Nicely crafted.

    =)

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"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."


-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...