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Can't complain . . .

By m n m n I | Posted: 26 February 2010

Views: 463
Editor's choice
Editor's choice

Can't complain . . .



After all the snow in the weeks that went

The hard rain drumrolled as the week commenced

Virgin snow

Seemed so innocuous late late last night

Bent backs and shot shovels groan in the light


Can't complain

My sweetlove's loving me with all her might . . .

©m n m n I

All articles on this website by m n m n I are copyright ©m n m n I and should not be reproduced without the author's prior written consent. All opinions are the opinions of their respective authors and are not necessarily the opinions of The Writers' Circle.
Comments 
Possum
27 February 2010
You can't complain for she loves you with all her might and you truly feel it.  Another beautiful writing from you, mnmnI.
Evita Sagalongos
01 March 2010
wow... romantic.  Hope she knows =)
ChrissieJo
05 March 2010
mmm.... Delicious..
m n m n I
07 March 2010
You ain't kidding, ChrissieJo
Thanks
Shakespril
07 March 2010
great writing!

^_^

sweet....
m n m n I
09 March 2010
Thanks for the compliment, Shakespril
I'm glad you like the poem
Possum
09 March 2010
" My sweetlove's loving me with all her might..."  

I love that last line.  Beautiful!
Shakespril
16 March 2010
Why can't you complain?!


Well, maybe that is up to you...Anyway, it is a pretty poem...

^_^
Keiron
20 March 2010
I agree with the above comments - the last line stands out. It is helped by its predecessors though, as these (for me) are rooted in the past, they suggest the passing of things - the snow last week that needed and will no doubt need yet more work-a-day shoveled effort to clear it sometime soon. but what does this matter the poem seems to say when set against what is really important, so refreshingly stated in this last line.
m n m n I
25 March 2010
Thank you for your review, Bellisimo.
Drum roll is not a verb unless you use it as a verb.
The poet sees the world differently.
Like the artist with his paint (or Bert Bell with his camera), the poet with his words strips the veil for us to see the reality that he sees.
We've invented a lot of words to express what we perceive ( e.g. onomatopoeia.)
The existential expression is up to the poet, or the artist (or Bert Bell).
And I know you know that; and it's the difference in your art.

m n m n I

Writer
m n m n I

Total posts:
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Roles: Writer
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