and an interior

Sound for me the nightingales,
call me of the loons and whippoorwills,
share the sights of castles soaked in hands.

I wonder,
do you imagine a land
such as this.

Where no structure stands
or has stood,
for more generations
than you could count
upon the fingers of one short fingered hand.

This land
has felt the tread
of cool bare feet
for thirty thousand years,
some say more

but there are no monuments,
no castellated vantage points, ruined forts
stoned and leaning Henges'
nor Aztec hills,
no faint depressions
of older roads or walls.

Just a great and open heart,
and an interior
quite beautiful and sparse.

— Craig Norris, Jun 03, 2009

About the Author

Country/Region: AUS

Critiques

bjp

17 years ago

Dear Craig,

As is a given in your poems, there are some wonderful turns of phase, which I sometimes refer to as "colour": Sound for me the nightingales, call me of the loons and whippoorwills, share the sights of castles soaked in hands. than you could count upon the fingers of one short fingered hand. no castellated vantage points, ruined forts stoned and leaning Henges' Olya says that the neat phrase "one short fingered hand" interrupts the flow because she starts thinking: Is it a hand with fewer fingers or a hand with shorter fingers? - And gets caught in a feedback loop of sorts. She also thinks that this is a very beautiful poem. I concur. Affectionately, Brian

Craig Norris

17 years ago

thank you Brian thank you Olya

I confess to some amusement at your distraction counting fingers, I thought that would happen and in truth I am happy that it does, as in the end the result is quite the same. However...perhaps... Love to you both Craig

Craig Norris

16 years 11 months ago