by Bill Yarrow
16
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15 comments |
75 words
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A version of this poem appeared in Right Hand Pointing, Issue #40.
Thank you, Dale Wisely!
Faint echo of George Herbert. See "The Pulley."
This poem appears in my chapbook FOURTEEN (Naked Mannekin, 2011).
The poem appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVOX, 2012).
Words fail, mine that is to describe how yours succeed to an end beyond my power to describe. Nevertheless, all praise.
I believe these noble lies.Big brutal fav for this one.
I'm loving your lies. *
Bill, such a lovely flow from one lie to another. . . fave
Delightfully sharp edged. As usual from this author, a top notch read. *
I hear that echo, Bill. Such a great piece. Wonderful syntax in the lines.
Oh, man, that last line! Killer! *
Your word choice is always so utterly precise and gets right down to the heart of the matter, where it eviscerates with a kind of pragmatic heroism. Like this a lot.*
Ha! Best to just skip to the cat. *
Bill, loved this!!! "I shriveled into harsh mathematics." Incredible line there!!! And that last line. It did make me laugh!!!
Outstanding, as always!! ****
Ah Bill Yarrow, I have missed thee! This piece cuts to the core, a wildly controlled evisceration of man! *
Brilliant and so you, from the witty title, leaving me wondering which four? Did I get them "right?" And then the narrative which has your trademark intense precision and pathos, nailing the core of emotion.
Fave.
Excellent in every way. The economy here working to make the impact a lot larger than it appears, and deeper than you imagine. A real treat.
odd, wonderful. great.
I shriveled into
harsh mathematics.
She had goldfish and
good taste.
But I knew one day I'd replace her
with a brutally neutered cat.
*