Dust
#1
Dust

No sense to be made
of this little flower
the color of impending death
importunes
every breath is guess work
arrives no where at all

light warped evenings
take the air at odds and ends
train horns punctuate.
To morning
it’s all beginnings, then day explodes
into identical fragments.

No beginning, middle or end
will satisfy this miller.
He grinds everything to dust.





Dust

No sense to be made
of this little flower
the color of impending death
importunes
guess work comes with every breath
arrives no where at all
at end of creation:

light warped evenings
take the air at odds and ends
train horns punctuate.
Scaling another day
just to reach tomorrow.
To hear morning tell it
it’s all beginnings, then day explodes
into identical fragments.

No beginning , middle or end
will satisfy this miller.
He grinds everything to dust.

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#2
(12-10-2023, 11:01 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  Dust

No sense to be made
of this little flower                 great opening
the color of impending death         its color/bloom impending death
importunes
guess work comes with every breath  consider inverting this line to 'every breath comes(with)/is guess work'
arrives no where at all
at end of creation:     this seems too much to me

light warped evenings
take the air at odds and ends
train horns punctuate.     at first I saw actual trains with horns, don't change-love the surreal imagery.
Scaling another day  again, consider inverting line
just to reach tomorrow.   I sense here that you are going for a 'ground hog day' vibe? If so consider, 'another day scaled/just to reach morning'
To hear morning tell it
it’s all beginnings, then day explodes        my favorite lines,   Good line break.
into identical fragments.

No beginning , middle or end  
will satisfy this miller.   was going to suggest changes but then accepted the narrator's position.
He grinds everything to dust.
Hi TqB,
Hard to resist giving edits as listed above.  All are mild suggestions that  don't change meaning.
enjoyed very much, regardless
take care,
bryn
Reply
#3
(12-11-2023, 01:19 PM)brynmawr1 Wrote:  
(12-10-2023, 11:01 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  Dust

No sense to be made
of this little flower                 great opening
the color of impending death         its color/bloom impending death
importunes
guess work comes with every breath  consider inverting this line to 'every breath comes(with)/is guess work'
arrives no where at all
at end of creation:     this seems too much to me

light warped evenings
take the air at odds and ends
train horns punctuate.     at first I saw actual trains with horns, don't change-love the surreal imagery.
Scaling another day  again, consider inverting line
just to reach tomorrow.   I sense here that you are going for a 'ground hog day' vibe? If so consider, 'another day scaled/just to reach morning'
To hear morning tell it
it’s all beginnings, then day explodes        my favorite lines,   Good line break.
into identical fragments.

No beginning , middle or end  
will satisfy this miller.   was going to suggest changes but then accepted the narrator's position.
He grinds everything to dust.
Hi TqB,
Hard to resist giving edits as listed above.  All are mild suggestions that  don't change meaning.
enjoyed very much, regardless
take care,
bryn

Thanks Bryn for the comments.  I've done a bit of editing.

Curious what you think of the sudden appearance of "the miller"?  You mentioned it in an oblique way in your last comment.

TqB
Reply
#4
Curious what you think of the sudden appearance of "the miller"?  You mentioned it in an oblique way in your last comment.

TqB
[/quote]

It threw me at first but then I assumed that 'this' referred to the narrator and it made sense. But then I am very flexible.
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#5
The last five lines are absolutely gorgeous
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#6
Wow I love this poem, I think Tranq viewed life or God / humanity (all of it?) as bread, a baker, a miller, a farmer. The best bread in my opinion (believe it or not I was a baker by trade for 6 years) is milled and fermented. Seed diversity is a major issue with grains in general, one would argue the cause of the Celiac crisis is this lack of hand milling regional grains.

He view himself or art as a flower. Unique but an affectation, or just an artist. He argues there is use for a dead flower it is just color, an affectation.

My hope is that Tranq realized that art is hope, pedals are used as dyes living or dead, and bread can be made with mint, sage, rose or lavender <3

Rest in Power Tranq
thanks for the read.
Only one thing is impossible for God: To find any sense in any copyright law on the planet.
--mark twain
Bunx
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