Giddy Up

The wind herds the brown-paper bag leaves pell-mell along the river of asphalt. Gusts whip bare branches into a frenzy. Mini cyclones scatter street rubble. Flags whack poles with great abandon and cloth lines bang rudderless into the clapboard. Men with tear filled eyes rush toward shelter. The sun still, and silent, lassoed by the herder shines lemon ice upon the day.

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David Smalling

Date: 11/11/2010 10:31:00 AM

My countryman thinks, you are one of the best ... but I am sure I said that before. I enjoyed this one too.

L'Nass Shango

Date: 11/10/2010 10:34:00 AM

God can be a cattleman too, for poetry take our meanings beyond us and make us bigger than we know we are. Emily Dickenson says the brain is larger than the sky. Yates said that to edit a poem was the remaking of the self.

L'Nass Shango

Date: 11/10/2010 6:20:00 AM

Again and again, you distinguish yourself as a cut above the common class, and make poetry an enjoyable experience. This is a fine poem, ... however, the wind as shepherd is a beginning image that you should sustain, and may recover by make the poem four lines longer, and closing with a sense of the shepherd in some way. Well done!

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 11/9/2010 8:51:00 PM

Love the imagery of this one. A big fav for this awesome write. Also I loved how easy it was to understand. Great last line. And sorry about your sister. I get along really well with all my sisters. LUv, Andrea

Carol Sunshine Brown

Date: 11/9/2010 8:09:00 AM

Some kind of wind storm you have going on there Deb. It is fall though now isn't it. Love, Carol

Nette Onclaud

Date: 11/8/2010 1:04:00 PM

another exquitive work, debbie... i like! warmest, nette