Wild Goose Poetry Review

Contemporary Poetry, Reviews, and Commentary

Tim Peeler, Webbing

with 6 comments

Tim Peeler

When he runs the single track trails
Around the fields, through the woods
Over fallen trees, busted limbs,
Milky quartz slung here, there,
He moves in short crippled strides
Like a spider accidentally stepped on
By the red-faced farmer, clod hopping
In wee darkness to his dairy.
He knows that relevance is illusive
As the tiresome world grows lonelier
And the first yellow gray beauty
Of the gloaming closer to finality,
And the uphill that always seemed
To be about arms swinging back
To grab power from the cold air
Is really nothing but the stomach
Wall shaping itself into a reason
That still makes sense.

Written by wildgoosepoetryreview

February 14, 2013 at 1:05 am

Posted in Uncategorized

6 Responses

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  1. Much to ponder here, Tim. Relevance is illusive. Hmmm.


    February 14, 2013 at 10:07 am

  2. Beautiful images, as always. And the voice (“busted limbs”). O, yes.


    February 15, 2013 at 4:34 pm

  3. “shaping . . . into a reason that still makes sense” what we all have to do. Tim is well-represented on my list of favorite poems ever; this one adds one more, somewhere up near the top.


    February 15, 2013 at 4:45 pm

  4. Both your poems in this issue are good, but this one in particular hums.

    Robert S. King

    February 15, 2013 at 7:59 pm

    • I used to be a fairly competitive runner, but this poem is about writing poetry at a certain age, though we’re not supposed to like poems about writing poetry, so I’m not supposed to admit that, but there. Thanks to those of you that have read it.


      February 16, 2013 at 3:29 pm

  5. I think it might be about doing anything we once considered significant at a certain age, that age where disillusionment often seems to outweigh belief.


    February 19, 2013 at 5:34 pm

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