Night had comeas the knight had gone
without a word
the children slept
the fire crackled
an old pot needed cleaning
rain was coming
a cool breeze
through windows open
memory would not
wash away
so easily
and where the crickets
were silent
one old rocking chair
was not
as one
was
she sat with
her sighs
cheeks rosy from fire
within
that no rain
would extinguish
and she thought of youth
of dreams
of the night to come
as many more would
without a word
without or within
23 comments:
What a blissful poem, redolent of times now found only in the written word and even they are usually from times past. It is as an ode, a beautiful ode, to language and literature and history. My very favourite line within is an old pot needed cleaning. Transcedant is the command you have, to suggest, to evoke, the aura of this poem permeates in a way that I cannot explain without it sounding unbelievable, thus to be used as a evidence of measure. To read this poem, to breathe it, to breathe it as the words unfurl, my fancy tells me this must be what it would be like to have a ghost pass through ones body, for those borders that dictate where we end and someone else begins to be superimposed upon the other for the briefest moment, left with senses, emotions that weren't ours but a second ago. Not well explained, this poem was enormously affecting, and beautiful, largely due to the submergence that occurs, wonderful, commanding ambience, from first to last. Great piece!
I love when you point out something in a way I had not seen and help me to rediscover these poems through your eyes and heart and head. After reading your comments, I go back and read the poem and it feels like I am reading it for the very first time. Thank you for that. And sweet dreams when you get that far. :-)
For the record, this image appeals to me more than any other, and I'm typically drawn to very vivid colors. (What record, and who care what appeals to her?)
For the record L, me and my limes toast your good taste. :-D
Ha! It's 5:00 somewhere, right? I'm in the mood for toasting!
Me too. Come on over. I've got a bevy of limes ready to take flight over the crystal I'll be/am lifting. :-)
Hmmmm. It's a beautifully sentimental poem. But the image created by the poem does not quite match the picture. I mean, I may have a dirty mind... but that rose isn't just a rose.
Why Athena, whatever do you mean? ;-)
That could well be why I said that was the image that appeals to me most. A rose by any other name . . YIKE! Did I just say that?
Roses found in garden not as wood too rises without a lot. :-D
Oh, that's VERY good for so early in the morning! I'm going to go grind coffee beans and snicker a little!
I'll take a little giggle with my snicker please, and maybe a wry smile on the side.
WORD play ~ one of my favorite forms of recreation! Truly. Would that be ham on wry?
I was thinking gams.
Ha! Leg on bread. If I actually was a meat eater, I could maybe come up with some cut to play off of "gams", but . . . shank? shin? Reuben?
Your tagline there - "the love you take": Beatles fan or just words?
Got it! Lambs' gams - leg of lamb!
Love the Beatles, especially The White Album and Abbey Road.
Ha! I was the little girl pulled in through the rays right into the Ed Sullivan set in February, 1964. John Lennon is my hero, but I also generally love the Beatles. So how about this . .
". . she's well acquainted with the touch of a velvet hand like a lizard on a window pane . . ."
or
" . . . a soap impression of his wife which he made and donated to the National Trust . .. "
I needed to read some of your work today. To hear your wise words and to think about it's meaning. Thank you dear friend for the words and for the endless meanings xx
Elise, you humble me and upon bended knee lay your shoulder upon my sword and let the ocean speak in gasp and sigh, to and fro as wave to swell and back again. :-D
I feel like I am sitting on that rocking chair, gently rocking.The imnages very clear within my mind's eye. Lovely, you.
Thanks SarahA. You have given me a compliment as the sun gives the day and the night gives the moon.
For the record, this is what I saw in this image as it was used with this poem (which is not to say I didn't see a few other things too :-):
I saw/see the Rose of Death as given to the widow by the beds beneath her bedroom window.
Post a Comment