Woven Water by William Marsland.

[billy]

This is the kind of poem where your imagination nicely sublets a small room, with a small window where the reader can just sit and watch things float by. It has a calming kind of neutrality, between the imaginative and the lofty. The main force behind this poem, to me is the interal structure. Your words are just there hitching a ride. For the kind of poem that it is, it is quite good. It's very zen-like and tranquil. I just feel that too much of its umph relies on the flow, but upon its ebb takes nothing back with it. And it is there upon the ebb where you should take the reader someplace he/she has never been.

"where little prancing horses die" for me creates an interesting image, as just before the wave breaks, the imagination creates its own unique perspective from the chaos. It's a strong image. But is it too strong for the soothing ambience of your poem? I also have an itsy problem with "surf". It's more semantical than anything. The idea of the word fits. But it just doesn't feel right to me. That's is just my opinion, as you already know comes prepackaged with its own grain of salt. :0)

thanks for the feedback Nad, always appreciated. as always i'll take your words into account on an edit.