I quill in word to freeze my face by frame,
cold link to sink, remembering the scent
of weathered sound; sweet earth, as shivered name,
recanting dirt, to skirted firmament.
Oh, leaves have fallen, composting body brown,
ice praising yellow falling, flying pen
to stain my brain, refraining filtered gown
I wish to lift; wild wind, as wave of when.
For we were touch to season, turning white,
November, curled in cups to ranting stream;
and running from the cusp of deeper night,
where light was flight in starry, dusted dream.
So, feather what you will in naked breeze,
to rolling, crystal lover churning trees.
A contest entry
- Winklings 100th Contest (A Series) - Contest A JUDGED! by Lyndon.
3500 points, ended July 30, 2008, 5 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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So very beautiful. Love the image you used and the imagery you presented even more. Congratulations on your trophy. Always wonderful to see a shiny bauble on your work. Well done. ~Pamela
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Internal rhymes and alliterations add much to the feel and quality, lovely stuff
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Congratulations to you and ecrivain01 for winning the Silver and Gold. You've both done a fine job here!
Paul
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Lovely imagery ...
and a good job on hewing to the sonnet format.
Congratulations on the Silver trophy.
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Beautiful Shakespearean styled sonnet, friend.
Alliteration has been well worked at. Good title; superb graphic; fine use of colour.
The pen of all instruments is a self-portraiture if written freom the heart AND mind.
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Gorgeous. The last two stanzas were almost regal in scope and beauty. I loved those phrases, "running from the cusp of deeper night," "dusted dream," and especially "rolling, crystal lover churning trees."
If this earth, this water, this movement, these leaves, this change is your captured self-portrait then the likeness is becoming.
Beautifully done.
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