Down Rail Road Tracks They wind endlessly through the sand reaching far into the hazy horizon stretching out for nowhere. Disappearing into the sweltering heat. The sun blinds off the silver tracks gleaming through thick air trying to take in one deep breath. No wind shifts through the sands, no water quenches the dusty spikes. The train is only now a distant echo reverberating against the spokes of memory, dwindling slightly upon the cloudless sky.
Katie Lanier's Questions:
My only question about these poems and the way I write
is how can I make them more flavoraful and
interesting, and if I have any amount of talent at
I recently moved schools and my new creative writing teacher gives me no input at all, she just counts the lines and estimates if I had used my time wisely. While my old teacher always gave me ideas, asked me questions to guide me to think about what I really want to say, and gave me different views to consider about my poems.
So I guess I am just looking for a little bit of actual constructive critism.
Thank you for you consideration.
Intermission It is a pause. A darkness untied. A sense of time unraveled. It is a room with no light or door to escape. You sit in the center not breathing, eyes lightly shut. Suspended in nothing, or so it feels. There is no breeze felt or no sound heard. It is a moment of indecision, It is intermission.