Doresey's Real Poetry For Seniors.Doresey's Real Poetry For Seniors Ed L. Dorsey Noble House c/o American Literary Press 8019 Belair Road, Suite 10, Baltimore, MD 21236 9781561679607, $14.95 www.americanliterarypress.com 1-800-873-2003 The poetry of Ed L. Dorsey personal anthology "Doresey's Real Poetry For Seniors" is characterized by themes involving spirituality, nature, growing older, present society and the effects of change. His lyrical verse employs superb rhyming rhyme also rime n. 1. Correspondence of terminal sounds of words or of lines of verse. 2. a. A poem or verse having a regular correspondence of sounds, especially at the ends of lines. b. enhanced with a strong meter. Superbly crafted metrical met·ri·cal adj. 1. Of, relating to, or composed in poetic meter: metrical verse; five metrical units in a line. 2. Of or relating to measurement. verse is a hallmark of Dorsey's poetry and will be greatly and especially appreciated by those who enjoy poetry in a classical tradition nowadays all to often ignored in the cacophony of free verse free verse, term loosely used for rhymed or unrhymed verse made free of conventional and traditional limitations and restrictions in regard to metrical structure. Cadence, especially that of common speech, is often substituted for regular metrical pattern. and so called 'prose poems'. 'Looking for the Bloom': I tucked the tiny seed beneath the soil/and dreamed one day I'd see flowers sweet;/I coddled the little sprouts sprout v. sprout·ed, sprout·ing, sprouts v.intr. 1. To begin to grow; give off shoots or buds. 2. To emerge and develop rapidly. v.tr. with care and toil/and looked for Spring's bright eye to bring the treat;//I watched them as they grew; no flower showed,/I wondered if all nurture NURTURE. The act of taking care of children and educating them: the right to the nurture of children generally belongs to the father till the child shall arrive at the age of fourteen years, and not longer. Till then, he is guardian by nurture. Co. Litt. 38 b. was for naught;/Then one morn a spark from out my window glowed;/the oft-repeated miracle was wrought.//The bud to newborn blossom such joy brings,/All hope my heart had pulled now played on strings. |
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