Scribd Logo
Upload

Welcome to Scribd!

  • Fairy Lake: Robert Read

    Uploaded by

    api-519650097
    21 views2 pages
    The poem describes scenes of a frozen landscape in Antarctica with imagery of a left handed desk feeling left out, a royal throne slipping through cold fingers, and a solitary occupant of the mind amidst fall winds. While a storm is returning and creeping past continental edges, fraying where ice meets the sea, the poem suggests an uncertain future, stating "I can't promise that we will survive this."

    Original Description:

    Original Title

    72 73

    Copyright

    © © All Rights Reserved

    Available Formats

    PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd

    Did you find this document useful?

    Is this content inappropriate?

    Report this Document
    The poem describes scenes of a frozen landscape in Antarctica with imagery of a left handed desk feeling left out, a royal throne slipping through cold fingers, and a solitary occupant of the mind amidst fall winds. While a storm is returning and creeping past continental edges, fraying where ice meets the sea, the poem suggests an uncertain future, stating "I can't promise that we will survive this."

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    21 views2 pages

    Fairy Lake: Robert Read

    Uploaded by

    api-519650097
    The poem describes scenes of a frozen landscape in Antarctica with imagery of a left handed desk feeling left out, a royal throne slipping through cold fingers, and a solitary occupant of the mind amidst fall winds. While a storm is returning and creeping past continental edges, fraying where ice meets the sea, the poem suggests an uncertain future, stating "I can't promise that we will survive this."

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 2

    Fairy Lake Robert Read

    72
    Garret 2020

    In the Suburbs of Antarctica

    The left handed desk feels left out.


    A royal throne caught in corduroy
    slipping
    through cold fingers

    grasping white sheets


    of ice in a picturesque scene,
    forgettable and the
    solitary
    occupant of the mind amidst the fall winds

    blooming a brilliant spectrum,


    shaking with the feedback loop of
    static.
    The only song I listen to.

    Our storm is returning,


    creeping past continental edges
    Fraying where ice meets the sea.

    (I can’t promise that we will survive this.)

    Jam Navarro

    73

    You might also like