An exercise in trois-par-huit.


Slow the beat
Of heavy tired feet
That pound against the unyielding track

And the fog-shrouded brain insists on drifting back
To the blithesome coffee, abandoned, growing cold,

The mug listless fingers yearned to hold
That now must wait its while:
One more mile

Poetry by Lady Courtaire
Read 125 times
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Written on 2021-05-21 at 20:37

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Michael R. Burch
I agree with the accolades. In fact, I would like to discuss the possibility of publishing this poem, and others of similar quality, via my literary journal. You would be in very good company with some of the best poets writing today. Please let me know if you're interested.


Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Nicely done.

I love the rhythm of this. Somehow it feels like running. There's some undulating pulse that reminds me of the early morning run.

An excellent trois-par-huit. I think the form lends itself so nicely to this contemplation.