it was the road, the
odd shape
of detours, of
camouflaged hands
that could not hold the
soulful beat
of blues, tyranny of
language denting the heart
it was the pause, the
crease of unopened letters
unsettling, of
stories shaping me, my
path, my name
Original poem: Driftwood by Sara Teasdale
My forefathers gave me
My spirit's shaken flame,
The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
The letters of my name.Posted for dVerse Poets Pub: Poetry Form - Golden Shovel. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
A delightful golden shovel, Grace. I love the phrase ‘camouflaged hands that could not hold the soulful beat of blues’.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful and just flows. I love the idea of "the
ReplyDeletecrease of unopened letters unsettling" affecting who she is.
Nice one
ReplyDelete"it was the pause, the
crease of unopened letters"
Much love
Beautifully written, Grace. I love your choice of lines.
ReplyDeleteThis is an exemplary use of the Golden Shovel I appreciate you having us explore this form of poetry today and this poem I especially enjoyed your last stanza! 👌
ReplyDeleteYour Golden Shovel is wonderful it adds another dimension to the original. Love the poem you selected.
ReplyDelete