There were once flowery words wrapped in clean crisp scenes,
of opened land and rambling snow covered lane
drawing a gentle pallet of beauty across the soul.
There were once gentle whispers hinting at intimate moment,
suggestions with carefully veiled gazes that caressed
moving the heart to yearn for what was unspoken.
But no longer does the beauty linger in poem softly whispered,
in the name of shocking clarity none should mistake
slapping the reader in the face with too much information.
We run now full speed and unfettered by modesty or tact,
headlong through overly exploited landscape of concrete
nearly naked and proud of it, oh beloved how far we have…
Karen Quinn 2012