I-
We found life
exploring gardens where
despair cast shadows and stillness
Old age, rot and flame
where actions and reactions
cease in one exhalation
dryness makes tinder
in dead eyes wasted
staring into the past
of confessions and conversations
injuries and infirmaries
Sleep takes silently
what rise and fall did not
where twilight burns to night
and rain becomes a dullness
of the soul
while evolution slowly walks
from consciousness to blackened streets
clinging to gutters
and children's tears
children's fears
who till the loam where the dead
hide their bones
shallowness of years spent
in the past
II-
Last year when the roses bloomed
under the Juniper tree,
in memories and life
there was silence
before another death fell
in cold oblivion
Gown the Earth in gray
like bones and tomb stones
and spectres' hearts
while snow coats scents
and dreams
Children nestle
for stories of perplexity
and photo albums of God
near the Christmas tree
Meaning found in playing
and replaying old age
from the lark to the raven
III-
Rainy days spent
drinking booze and
playing cards
glory days spent in a haze
of sex and cigars
life was death
but life felt so alive
Under the streetlights
the city dreamed
slow motion, black and white
one after another
while the chimney coughed
and books lay open,
half read, half ignored
and bread lay cut
but uneaten
Unwelcome in life and death
but from the murmur of birth
to the memory of life
existence rested in eyes;
a sleep of dust and bone
where stillness brought
no destination beyond the mind
and beginnings welcomed no ending
There were fires in the eyes
as the fireplace
but placing and replacing ostentation
became a flame of exhaustion
middle aged hope, middle aged despair
where memories fall from
Juniper trees
and temptation ripened
in discovery
communion to understanding
and coming endings
wine and bread
peace and love
and wars left unfinished
but winds still not blown
Cries and nights under lamplight
where wonder entwines with notion
and motion ceases to stillness
while time continues through
water
Aging on with scrutiny
lines drawn between birth and death
ending death
IV-
When the world shudders
as images cling to
emptiness
before fading in the cold
and midnight streets blackened
where ancient memories fall
in stars
Piety and awareness to death
coated in the snow
while fog calls under
street lights and lamp lights
where photo albums are studied
and tedium endured
Chill descends as eyes blink
like camera shutters
flash
flicker
and shadows are engraved
into sidewalks
[where men exploded
and atoms split
in one intense moment
between failure and sin]
All that is forgotten
between Friday and Sunday
death and resurrection
where we fall
divide death from life
the future from the past
and the addition of bones
broken while bending
in the snow
And sprouts rise from
the thaw
skulls exposed in waste
where silence lingers
in desolation
Furthest days pass
when warm winds blow
another year of
agony
painted on the back
of the eye
Knells clanged, unprayable
behind walls of melting ice
[like ravens' souls]
Present and past
no destination
from winter to spread
where life will die again
winter to spring
spring to winter
Devotion to death
crept like vines
from the Earth
as water succeeds
from seed to weed
to cries of plants
from winter to spring
From the beginning to the end
where ostentations of manner
from death and blindness
of dead men, dying
roses
crushed in bowls of dust
all is well
but perfection is death
under the snow
of genius
and the nightfall
of glory
while the wind whispers
incantations of oblivion
all is well
in the spasm of a single second
from silence to one final exhalation
from the apple-tree
to the grave
sun rise, sun set
one natural process
where life and death
are one
Author notes
"How dreary - to be - somebody! How public - like a frog - to tell your name - the livelong June - to an admiring bog!"
---Emily Dickinson
We can never be anybody, because in the end we all die.
Ok, so I may not personally be a nihilist, but that is the idea which I drew from the quote, and wrote in the poem.
The structure is disorderly at the end and the beginning for a reason.
"In my end is my beginning"-T.S. Eliot
The flower metaphor at the beginning and end represents the decomposing of life, in hopes of something new. Also the growth and death, and the parallel of animals to plants, and insignificance of humans.
A contest entry
- All Great Poets are Dead and Crazy by alexandrathegreat.
800 points, ended September 1, 2007, 26 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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I have to agree with one of the preceding comments that this piece contains far too many great lines and images to have to narrow down to a fee. Seems you proved the point in the contest you are in that all great poets aren't dead. I don't know you so I can't avow the crazy part
Ruth
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GOt to clap!
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All this for me? Thank you very much for your great introspective view on my contest, much appreciated. My fav lines (though their are too many to copy paste-
"for stories of perplexity
and photo albums of God
near the Christmas tree"
This is so deep and well written it surprises me where I sit now to have a poet so dedicated to interpreting what our ancestors left some what of a mystery, in my presence. I'll have to read this a couple more times, though it will take a while it seems well worth it. Another fav of mine is
"[where men exploded
and atoms split
in one intense moment
between failure and sin]"
CLAPS LOUDLY! Bravo! The end wraps everything and nurtures all you said! Thank you so much! I don't deserve to read this.
The idea I drew from the quote is that she would rather not be famous, she doesn't want her name on the lips of all the town's folk, who will distract her and bore her, take her away from her true duties where as if she was not famous then she could finish out her quest in piece, or so that is what I took from it. -
Wow.. this was a work of true magnificence fromthe beginning to end, very deep and poignant, reading it what came to mind's eye were the sketal limbs of wasted trees inthe wintertime, emoty, devoid of life yet overflowing with the promise of things yet to come. Very vivid, very nicely done *rose&
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*Stunned at the brilliance of it*
Your poem has left me awe-inspired. Wow, it was just amazing. I loved the imagery, the flow. The background works so well with the white words to just pull them away from the page. I felt like I was drifting in a place far away from where I am, detached and yet apart of everything. Strength, beauty and power flowed through this poem. I hope to someday write something as effective as this, but until then I can only dote upon this amazing work that you have put together. You have encouraged, enlightened and inspired me with this. Thank you for sharing your work.
Write well,
Autumn
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