What is more beautiful than the fire pit,
rain rusted, turned on its side in the snow?
It is the only earth tone visible for miles.
I think back to that moment when the black
snake escaped my shovel, harmlessly sliced
into the garden loam, and I finally saw the difference
between blackness and poisonous. Or when
I see the men with their shotguns and realize why
the rabbits avoid us. I holler – run rabbit run –
to the angry men with their guns I say “Isn’t it
good to be alive?” Or when
the telescope came in the mail and the first thing I
looked at was my brother’s eye. It was a blur that
moved when he blinked. I drew a picture of it and
he cried because it looked like something he had
never seen before. As when the paint by number
‘Last Supper’ has some numbers scrambled and
takes on the look of a work of art.
A Name for Beauty
29 Wednesday Jan 2014
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John Stevens said:
I enjoyed reading – and the title, having first caught my attention, seemed to hover over the lines as if it had more to say.
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Ronald E. Shields said:
Thank you for reading and taking time to comment. I wondered if the title might be asking too much of such a modest poem…probably should have gone with a lower case ‘b’…or maybe a different title altogether.
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John Stevens said:
No I don’t think so – the title struck me as most effective
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ann said:
‘…he cried because it looked like something he had
never seen before…’
this poem quite perfectly encapsulates its name. just beautiful. thank you.
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