In the Ripe Sun

Hello,

I thought I would take a sneaky peek at your latest poem...

Echoes of my quite laughter
wound the air like a crash
of glazed ice in the ripe sun..
^
What an opening? Fantastically rich in imagery and emotion.
I imagine laughter becoming quieter, like when you crack a joke that you laugh at and no one else thinks it is funny. That is the laughter that I imagine is echoing here. Sad, as the joke is on the joker.
The Metaphor for this is a new one on me and so lifts the quality up a notch. Glazed ice in ripe sun. Opposites fire and ice causing a reaction that repels one another. Great!

All the particles around
wake the white morning up
with serene hustles and murmurs.
^
Okay, bringing the reaction to an atomic level sheds a new light on it and hones this readers attention. I imagine now each molecule/ particle acting like a sentient being, being affected by the laughter, the butt of the joke perhaps?

I don't hear them laughing though.
^
Yes, exquisite - one line and sadness is back on the jokers shoulders. The joker yearns for their laughter, their confirmation of a job well done.

Little seeds break
into deep roots,
roots reach
for parched thirsty stems;
^
Oh the effort, the search for acceptance, like roots running deep indeed.

lost branches straggle
off into the woods...
^
Straggle, I like this words, like becoming lost, meandering aimlessly looking for that...laughter!

I drop an eye on the
lazy floating clouds as
they wipe the dust off of the sky.
^
Ha ha, this makes me smile with its brilliance. Using clouds like sponges to wipe the dust which has settled over the time taken to search, become lost looking for acceptance, perhaps?

None travelling with a purpose;
neither heading back to its home,
each soaked in a load of powdered clay...
^
Powdered clay - nothing grows in such barren earth. No water to be found and certainly no laughter. A traveler lost in a strange city, or a labyrinth perhaps?

As though there are parts of us
in the womb of nature;
all's lost and scattered..
^
this verse is the most intriguing to me. It suggests to me of damage that we are born with. It reminds me of the nature vs nurture debate. Is the damage from nature or from the womb? The final line, it matters not, for the affect is the same - lost and scattered.

I lean back to the solid wall
as the day starts to soar.
^
Backed into a corner, nowhere to go, trapped. All the while the inevitable races to its conclusion.

I try not to laugh again, but I know,
comedy comes from a dark place.
^
What a finish? We cannot help but be who we are. We may try and change ourselves, but we are trapped and go through our lives making the same, or similar mistakes. It is true comedy/ life comes from a dark place. I would also like to think that genius comes from that same place. It just needs direction to make it shine!

Well done - a truly lovely, well thought out piece with rich imagery and skill shown throughout.

Take care,

Michael

What a beautifully written piece. Excellent

NOMINATED! RanIa, This is so beautiful. Your words never fail to amaze the eyes who read your poems, sorry I cannot give much of a comment, but wow!