The spitting fire of new hewn pine
reminds me winter came too soon,
and rain that scratches on the pane
will turn to snow before the dawn.
The dripping drops from ancient eaves
beat out a gentle lullaby,
and barn owl's hoot on silent wing
tells me the prey is silent now.
The ticking of the wood cased clock,
whirs to strike the midnight hour,
then silence hums when it is done;
the snow came sooner than I'd thought.
The creaking chair's disgruntled rock
now wheezes as I rise
to find a dram of summers past
behind the tinkling crystal glass.
I raise my glass, expire a sigh,
and listen to the moaning wind
that sings a dirge for autumn's leaves
that rustled in a jocund dance, only yesterday.
The whining stairs announce my tread
to bed where whispering down awaits,
and as the spluttering candle dies,
the wind screams vengeance to the night.
A contest entry
- Sound by polly filla.
400 points, ended November 7, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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right; I'm not clever enough to say exactly why this poem forms a perfect sound, but I can take two lines & try and explain
"and rain that scratches on the pane
will turn to snow before the dawn."
not only do you fit a perfect rhyme into the 1st line, you use the word "scratches" as a punctuation from the reverie, and 'scratches' describes the sound of the rain, sharp, ending in liquid...followed by your next line, heavy & soft with vowels
anyway, no doubt I'll be back to read again - thanks for your entry! -
Your recitation blends and weaves into a wonderous tale melodic. This inspires a true sense of felt inclusion.
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Oh my, i was reading and filled with the sweet hypnotic rhythm and your lovely vivid and sometimes melancholy imagery and then you haul off and completely knock me to the ground with that powerful last line!
And I have to pick myself up off the floor.
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Lovely and evocative. Well written and the flow is excellent.
Well wishes in the contest.
Thank you for sharing.
rous
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As always, Scribe, your quill dances with its gentle feathers slowly drifting aloft, where words shall never perish. Lovely, my Friend. Good luck in the contest, Sweetie. 
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ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL!!!!!
This in such sweet ways reminds me of my grandmother's house! The oil lamps lit, the warm coal stove fire, and outside the winter wind howling round. Days of some hardship but ones with memories so sweet and dear. 's
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