Your simple silver,
sterling, in the dark blood
of autumn night,
retreating in
the face of gathering frost,
simmering at the bottom
of the well,
scattering substance
in the shrapnel
of the shattered stars,
have mercy on us
as we measure moments
and evade eternity.
Tarnished in the tattered clouds,
traduced in the fossil fires
of profligate darkness,
obscured by pantomime
brilliance born of mania,
hear our prayer.
Our lady of forgotten
fecundity,
pray for us at
the hour of our death.
Amen.
Author notes
An Ghealacht means The Moon in Irish.
A contest entry
- Y is for Yeats - William Butler Yeats by just mercedes.
1400 points, ended October 14, 2008, 9 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Thank you for this entry in the contest, and this beautiful response to Yeat's poem. I love the way you have gone beyond the negative view of the world, back to the Mother, and speak directly and passionately to her.
Your images are beautiful, particularly 'scattering substance/in the shrapnel/of the shattered stars' and the fervour of the prayer is one I join with.
Your references to war are lightly made, but resonate in the final lines. A wonderful poem. -
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Thank you so much for your wise, kind words and for hosting the contest.
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Maith thú, a chara! You really evoke very well the sense of pre-Christian mysticism inherent in much of Yeats' work and your imagery is first rate.
Good luck,
Bill
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Go raibh maith agat mo chara. Yeats is my poetic father.
My visit to his grave in Sligo was the highlight of my trip to Ireland.
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A beautiful prayer, filled with so many excellent images, shrapnel of the shattered stars, tarnished in tattered clouds, but still the only thing left to send up a prayer to...the moon.
This is excellent!
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Thank you so very much for your comments.
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Quite wonderful !
I've been enjoying reading the contributions to this contest: they have been very intense for the most part, and not surprisingly the whole theme here is intense. You're poem is like and interlude to the shelling; even on a battlefield the stars must be beautiful, or, are perhaps even more so!
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wow, that's very beautiful & a wonderful nod to Mr. Yeats.
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Thanks. WBY is one on my very favorites. I visited his grave in Sligo.
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Well written indeed. Some very effective word choices and great imagery and it reads well. Good luck in the contest.
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Thanks, bro.
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