Sketch

Cold. Stars. A breath you can see.  

Hills stand round the village like ignored guests

at a reception. The lines of the street fail ; they obey not.

The second ; the sleet forces my

face down to the wet path. It is nearly time.

The end. I return to a home that kicks me.

Cold. The stars ice. Midnight.

Reviews

[Rhianne Ney]

This is a good poem already and something that really needs a lot of thoughts and feedback. great job with this, Sir~

[Marc Marlon Villaflor]

Wow deeply write and genius touch in this craft. love the story progerssion excellent write! Good job Mr. Leslie!

[Jack Cassidy]

A great sense of realism, your words honestly bring me to those moments we all feel. To be able to conjure up imagery in as few words as this is very impressive. Great work! Something I can strive for...

[Firestone Feinberg]

You ARE important! This is a fantastc poem. Bravo! --david

[cartera]

Extremely evocative piece. Poetry like this reminds one of the power of words to convey images, feelings and that one does not need a bucket-load of them to do so. I love writing that raises questions and leaves me to answer them with my imagination. I have been where this narrator is. It all fits.
All the best
Alex.

[Ken Simm.]

A sketch done in black ink with crosshatched tones. I particularly enjoy the line abouut the streets failing. Excellent piece.

[DIVYA]

I loved the picture you sketched here of an icy blue midnight.
We all have the familiar that dampens us, leaves us cold and lonely. Thanks.

[RachelReaper]

This really is like a sketch, the readers seeing and feeling what you see. Wonderful write.

[Tina Kline]

I like this. It draws the reader along to the end and the whole feeling is one of coldness. It's as if they person in the poem is trapped in a sad cycle.

[Coyote Song]

Reading this I get a sense of coldness, of the spirit and the body. There's a sense of loneliness and being in a storm as well. I really enjoyed reading your poem. Nicely written.