Moderated by: Paddy , Edd
Posted: Thu Oct 31st, 2019 12:31 pm
1st Post
Potabasil
Member
Losing count
in my old days
The house of the dead
turned into a hostel
Dancing on their graves
why don't they
My toes are cold
a glass of the hard stuff
awaits
The grass is wet
easy to shovel
the friends around
digging
digging
digging
Another glass of the
hard stuff
passing around
My toes are cold
Down to the local
hot toddy awaits
The poor auld soul
at his own wake
Last edited on Thu Oct 31st, 2019 12:34 pm by Potabasil
Posted: Fri Nov 1st, 2019 04:00 pm
2nd Post
David R. Garland
Member
I am probably not the best person to ask, but I actually loved this poem. The imagery, is excellent. I can not think of a single thing I would alter. Thank you for posting this, I'll be reading it many times over.
Posted: Sat Nov 9th, 2019 03:15 pm
3rd Post
Potabasil
Member
Thank you David.
Another one dead this week
All falling down around me
Posted: Sat Nov 9th, 2019 03:16 pm
4th Post
Potabasil
Member
Thank you David.
Another one dead this week
All falling down around me
Posted: Sat Nov 9th, 2019 03:45 pm
5th Post
in media res
Moderator
Potabasil,
Good to see you around.
The Hard Stuff can soften a lot of things.
Beautiful poem.
Best,
IMR
Posted: Sat Nov 16th, 2019 12:45 am
6th Post
timmy
Member
Potabasil,
S2 and S4 and the last stanza are to die for. And I mean no disrespect by saying so. They are Bravo.
Peace to you, girl.
timmy
Last edited on Sat Nov 16th, 2019 12:45 am by timmy
Posted: Thu Nov 21st, 2019 09:21 pm
7th Post
Potabasil
Member
Wow
Thank you, Timmy
November always see me around here
All Saints Day and All Souls Day
Must pop in soon when I get a min.
How are you, Timmy?
Posted: Fri Nov 22nd, 2019 10:07 am
8th Post
Potabasil
Member
Just saw this In-Media
Thanks
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