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Within the Woodshed (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
Wind cuts, tree falls, life re-imagined,
Knife to wood, shaving layers from time.
Steel edge beneath this surface, sharper images emerge.
Spoon feeding soul’s goodness, chips falling through space.
rendering emerges, past tense erased
from under dead fall, brown trout eyes hellgrammite.


Staff member
Wood carvings are one of my favourite things and your poem had a good vibe for me. I don't think you need quite so many words to get the feeling across and a pared down version would have even more impact, I think. The hellgrammite was new to me but I found him on google and thus came to understand the last line. Good stuff!