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mark nwagwu

The latest comments that mark nwagwu has written.

rose petal

the sound of love is captured here in simple chimes that warm the heart. i loved this

The Sound of One Hand Clapping: An Old Cabin

rusted hinges; crippled wing; darts and curls; waving goodbye; forty years dry - simply compelling varieties on the theme of nothingness, it seems to me, and yet so real in its spirit, what was, isn't. I like this a lot

Heart of the Hunter

this is a moving piece, and full of movement too - movement that bounces back and forth seeking where to be, from time to time, the horizon keeps slipping away, the path of those who passed this way. Rich imagery, makes me want to take this way, though not quite the one that has been passed through already. There's the rub!

Quarry Questions

countryfog, you astonish me, leave me in deep thought, wondering...the wide expanse of your thoughts, some revdered in this new creation, 'quarry questions'. One would ask, why bother with the observations: you confirm for any doubtful outsiders the wonders of poetry and the range of the human mind. I shall be reading you and learning.

Pilloried penance.

Sweep away the cobwebs that strangle my insignificance
Then start again with cerebral penance.

the end is brilliant, the rest seems to me a labour - 'the cobwebs that strangle my insignificance' is exquisite

Prayer for Safety

abstinence; faithfulness, and AIDS will be conquered - a wonderful simple prayer to which I say loudly, Amen


This is philosophical, deep. We really do not long for yesterday, it's that we sometimes wish our yesterdays would merge into our todays and tomorrows. Innocence is ever in our hearts, and we must not lose it. Bleed, yes, in words and bleed in the soul too. It's all well in the spirit where everything is distilled and stored. I liked your write, John.

I'll think more.

but somehow you seem to hurt me

this is the big unknown about human relationships - it does not run on our virtues, it runs on something else we just can't describe - love is, or it is not, and that's the way it is.
I loved your write and shall read you more and more now that I'm back to this site.

Just perspective.

But Perspective,
Is like walking on moral glass.

this is profound, i wonder how you come to such deep thoughts, at such a young age. We need morals, or we would be beasts; but to walk on mopral glass means we have to be careful how e go about it, be more understanding, be more forgiving, be more loving ; i hope i'm not far of the mark!

White rose.

This is simply magical! it captures the essential elements of classical poetry - how you pitch one line against another in the two stanzas:

Standing on our burial grounds; poised against 'mundane soil without forgiveness;
Serenity of gradual rendering, situated against 'quietude of an easy freak;
and 'Velocity of aerial standards,' facing up to 'bleak; the smile of stillness.
The thoughts are repeated and you could have done this a million times without fail. I loved this a lot; I don't know what they call the style but it appeals to me a lot and I regard it as indeed classical

My Murderers Murder

I am my murderer's murder and I'm alive to celebrate my death...oh, how profound. I'll use this expression, this oxymoron, 'my murderer's murder' to good effect.


this shows real sorrow - we sometimes forget that to say i'm sorry is to say i'm sorrowful; i won't repeat what i may have done wrong; i repent. This has the fragrance of truth, and where there's truth, there's love. You conveyed all this so intently.


Eli, however we are, or may be, I pray there is more love so we care for one another and, if possible, get involved in others' lives, with faith. Thought-provoking and inviting.

Lover in disguise

Lawrence, is all truly allowed in love (as in war) - I thought there were some humane rules, certainly in love. What a perfect oxymoron - perverse atrocious love. All in all, Lawrence you rescued my thoughts from downcast immersion in doubt with the final lines that shape the whole poem and give it deep vibrancy:
in safe disguise as that exagerrated lover that I am. 'Exagerrated lover' I like that

The Flight

Exquisite. Love defines itself as it soars and soars never really landing anywhere except in the soul of the loved one which is also in flight. I'll save this as a bookmark, it agrees with evrything i believe - about love and loving

A fake snake

truth mixed with a lie is red-hot danger! poetic and philosophical.


the mighty oak sways bends in the wind - this contrast conveys the allegory of life; strong yet supple. brilliant, and true to its roots that beat it up.

Fondling the Keys!

this work makes me ask, Damon, can you please give us a poem on what goes on in your mind as you 'romance' your lonely keys - seems you leave too much to the imagination.


this is fantastic; or, as my granddaughter woulod say, fantastically fantastic - wonderful to read of virginity as eternal if it lasts, and finding beauty in her soul. That is love, complete; indeed, eternal


this is beautiful, Christian; delicately touches on the problems we deal with when we are separated from loved ones. i loved this


the language is running and i am dancing, naked as i am, i breathe your vocabulary and i'm clothed with serenity - you leave taller, and i'm not any smaller - fantastic


yes, couldn't agree with you more - the beauty of the morning is really special, no reflection of the jewelery and all that make-up of the night before. Yes, beauty belongs to the morning purity of the soul. I loved this a lot.

Imagine This

Is this how Persia went? Were there drones in those days, or is the Ayotallah a drone? Well, it went anyway, Persia. This provokes unresolved thoughts in me. Deep, all the same, witty, is it?

Red rain...

this is as beautiful as it gets

Sweetheart's Symphony

dripping in alliteration, soft on the lip, pulsating love entwined in petals of joy; this write makes me grow into a flower

How "no"thing = everything

my kind of poetry, incongruities and seeming inconsistencies, yet so real, what life is all about; full of meaning, yet filled with empty space

twenty years

a beautiul, moving write reminding us, urging us, to press for action, and not to take no for an answer - and the pace is musical

Space of stillness

this is deep, a great write indeed, so much said in such little space; profound

Bring A Shovel

simple and inviting

In my dream, I explained you autumn leaf...

this is a thoughtful write, beautiful with a rhythm that connects wonderfully with a throbbing soul

Old Age

Time struggles
To sink me behind the twilight sun.
Footprints of strength are stored

This is remarkable; footprints of strength are stored, and others who come along, may follow, their spirit erstored.

Back To The Start

it just might be that she returned to the place ad knew it for the first time - as TS Eliot would tell us


east west take your pick
the sun sunrise the sun sunset
take your pick
whichever way
sun will rise first east
sun will set frist west
people are there
rise and set
as they please
governments and all

i liked this write a lot

Everything else is an illusion.

great, love is all there is, once we know love, and have love, then all of life lives in us, and we, in our love, and the universe finds a home in us too.