SF (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)

A Smoke Picture

Hands dream to trace the sculptures of old trees
That stand like dark wainscoting to the light.
Thickets of wordless poems capture thoughts,
Paint lowering moods upon gray window glass.

You spoke Autumn in seven languages,
but only thought in Hebrew, so you said.
It pleases me immeasurably to know
My appalachian accent was approved.

Tonight my mind paints you a smoke picture,
Although frail moods are sometimes blown away.
It does not matter what a poem costs.
The pen and ink is worth the jourrney, Friend.

User Rating: 4,0 / 5 ( 52 votes ) 51

Comments (51)

‘…Thickets of wordless poems capture thoughts, …’ Wow! Wow! ! Wow! ! ! ... Carried forward in gusto of limbo…Thanks Ma’am Voted 10++ Ms. Nivedita UK
Your smoke bursts into a flame.
Your poem is pure Autumn, Nostalgia, Tenderness.. I have noticed many readers are just left with no words enough to express the feeling they have reading your poetry..But it is surely an Emotion in the perfect sense of this word. And what is Emotion, is Truth. Thanks for sharing, Sandra. Amary, always your friend.
Stunning imagery Sandra in this beautiful and perfect piece - a very touching poem
Fine poetry definitely maybe emotions on parchment so scenic as the darkness in nothingness.
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