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Disenchanted

Disenchanted

A Poem by Chris Shaw
"

(reflecting on a once revered place and memory)

"
shadows fall upon meadow grass
where once from atop a hill
sol burned on rolled bales of hay
.
august baked in noon blaze heat
replete with happiness was i, from
top knot hair to bare soles of feet
.
golden moments to remember
when black crows in random rows
became musical notes of song
.
how this valley sang of summer
from gentle slopes sweeping down
to where death's stain now lingers
.
fingers will forever point to where
a blade in winter flashed cold steel
plunged in anger into tender flesh
.
perpetrators all three doomed
young lives brewing in ruin and one
adolescent mourned in disbelief
.
      grief pervades our valley

© 2021 Chris Shaw


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Featured Review

I love so much of the language in this piece:

"when black crows in random rows"

"fingers will forever point to where
a blade in winter flashed cold steel
plunged in anger into tender flesh"

That being said, this is apparently referencing the murder of one child by three others. Such a tragedy for everyone concerned.

Posted 8 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

8 Months Ago

Thank you Linda. I appreciate your visit and your thoughts.

Chris



Reviews

world is not how it was back then,crime spewing everywhere,last days i guess

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

So right Ron, life is pretty cheap these days and youngsters killing youngsters is tragic. Thanks fo.. read more
 wordman

2 Years Ago

you`re welcome
Hi Chris,
I am so sorry that I do not read more of your works. This is a gem. It is somber but that is a good thing. I love the 3 line stanza that begins, "august baked in noon blaze heat." The entire poem is great. I'm not just saying that. This is really good stuff. On the subject of governments; I wish I lived in Sweden. They have not had a formal war in over 400 years. No one wears masks. They understand that the virus is going to do what thee virus is going to do. The people there have some freedom. They spend money on books not bombs. Have a wonderful day. Earl


Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Earl, so pleased to have a visit from you. Yes this poem is sombre, such a sad event so close to ho.. read more
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Gee
Much knife crime now, had two young lads stabbed to death not far from us in the recent past, one of them cradled into death by the son of one of my carpenters.
Gone are the days when you could settle your difference with the Queensbury rules and be buddies after it.


Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

We surely live in violent times Gee. Makes me pine for the old days. We had less materially, but mor.. read more
It's a terrible thing to know such pain and destruction pervades our world and the lives of our children. That those children would be that source of unending pain is tragic degradation of humanity.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Thank you so much for checking in and sharing your thoughts. You are appreciated.

Chr.. read more
MomzillaNC

2 Years Ago

You're welcome.
Amid picturesque descriptions a tale so haunting I felt chills down my legs... vividly told and deeply moving.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Thank you Sharon for stopping by with your thoughts. You are appreciated.

Chris
sharonlee

2 Years Ago

Most welcome
Powerful!
A sinister twist, well crafted.
Enchanting, disenchanting, life-affirming :)

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Thank you Dylan for stopping by. Your visit and review are appreciated. All the best.

.. read more
It takes only one selfish act of destruction to spoil something beautiful. The poignant longing in these words is a tangible thing. I could see the valley, the late summer hay harvested and burning in the heat. And the cry of a young life cut short. This one will linger. Btw, my father read me Washington Irving and Edgar Allen Poe from his college textbooks when I was four. The imparting of the love of words is a sacred thing.

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Yes, one selfish act and that beautiful place has turned sour. Thanks for your understanding and for.. read more
You hung on to the very moments that end the frost. And Here Comes the Sun. You know me



Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

What a lovely surprise to find you here Andy. I hope you post some of your own work. You have brough.. read more
It sounds to me like you live
close to the land which like
the rest of us does not make you
immune to life's difficulties.
Keep writing I will keep reading

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Thank you for stopping by and leaving a review. Much appreciated.

Chris
Such a tragedy woven within this poem...such depths of sadness yet so pristinely emoted...brilliant piece of poetry, took me many places Chris...

Posted 2 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

Thank you so much for your visit Ruth and lovely response. Been a while since I saw you on the forum.. read more
Ruth

2 Years Ago

Hi Chris, you are always welcome :) My reading glasses broke so I had to get new ones lol I am doing.. read more
Chris Shaw

2 Years Ago

All reasonable here. Glad to know you are OK. You made my early morning brighter, by stopping by :)

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1472 Views
72 Reviews
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Shelved in 1 Library
Added on July 30, 2021
Last Updated on July 30, 2021

Author

Chris Shaw
Chris Shaw

Berkshire, United Kingdom



About
Albert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..

Writing
Spoken Spoken

A Poem by Chris Shaw



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