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I really like the title. I think you mean, "reached down to the knees" or "reached to the knees" Up makes sound as if the hair is growing from the ground up.

Thanks Bob, Michael.

Michael, I changed work to labor. Thanks

The bare bones, yet, the space is always with us.

Thanks Bob and Michael

Love Traffic, Michael

Antlers Crisp morning, sheets whipping in the wind, they follow the street jauntily. Everything dazzles, invading their heads as if they are antenna tuned to the slightest nuances in atmosphere. Clickety, click, like the taps we put on our shoes in junior high, to be cool-- the sound of ourselves--...

Yes, I like this descriptive piece. I was immediately struck by "rains pour in composure"

Yes, I like this descriptive piece. I was immediately struck by "rains pour in composure"

I like the line: "flowers being never partisan:

I think Bob has given you something to think about. I, too, don't use enough imagery. I'm working at it.

Thanks Bob

I changed it Bob

Like this very much. I kind of want a different end, but maybe this one is enough.

Maybe:

as if old age
wanders over a hill

to pick a certain flower
and never returns


no, that's not it, oh well, it's your poem

Red, Red Moment It doesn't last; what does? My light fading. So much I missed while the stars blaze for centuries, millenniums. Somewhere at the center a star shines too faraway for it to know of existence. Darkness thick as ignorance surrounds it, would snuff it out like a candle between its callo...

Thanks Michael, I revised

Thanks Ken, Siva

Thanks Ken, Michael

Thanks Siva, Bob

Thanks Bob, doesn’t work for me either.

Thanks Ken, Meenas, Michael

Short but never-ending cycle of a poem, thanks.

horizon of eyes

dark dismal morning
20th of October
no one waking on their own

the candle struck
by the fire of exuberance
only the foolish can see

too early for others
the blight of dormancy
like a pandemic

that has stopped hearts
a breath away
from a flash of light

revision Return of the Fox I haven't seen him, but he's there. Crows caw at every turning leaf. A smell of apples rotting. White clouds like shadows folding in and out of themselves. It was not his intent to impart any trace of foreboding. He left home with no ill-will, hopes to return before snowfa...

Happy Birthday, Siva!

But I think Bob and I are the seniors, at least, age wise.
I'm 70. Not sure how old Bob is. I don't thin Ken is even close, but I could be wrong.

Yeah, I agree with Ken. How about "sun splashed grave". Otherwise I like the poem; it's full of wonderful details.

I like this, the mysterious start. I eliminated some stuff that was telly. The dolls from the attic come down in order, the young ones jump all over, the adults descend in style while the old stagger. Krishna shimmers in blue. Lakshmi graces in green. Meenakshi flanks both in red. The garden set wit...

I decided that the last line had to be “heavenly blue/robes”. Royal blue is quite different from heavenly blue, and I think it works as the title is a little mysterious until later on.

Thanks Bob, may try another one like this.