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End of year poem (Free verse) by <~> September is the wrong time to go--
not cold enough for sorrow
and humidity disguises
grief's waste of salt.
Octoberâs rime finds me.
Out of warmth, I seek another heat
and bargain through another moon.
November's dearth shortens breath
and I hide inside,
bracing for the feast days.
I have held out against the fading light.
Dark within, dark without
I stow solace,
waiting for the out.
Up the ladder:
Stolen Away
Down the ladder:
A friendly conversation with a Native American
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 8.428572
Posted: September 16, 2003 9:07 AM PDT; Last modified: September 16, 2003 9:27 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.922085 Overall Rank: 1412 Comments:
[8]
razorgrin @ 192.197.143.117
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16-Sep-03/9:13 AM
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Reply
The stanza about September is wonderful.
[n/a]
<~> @ 167.206.181.179
> razorgrin
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16-Sep-03/9:28 AM
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Reply
thankee. better, stronger, faster, now.
I liked "I hold solace in my hand", and though perhaps you could simply do something mure subtle with the ball dropping. waiting for the out bugs me more than the ball, I think. Though it's hard to say. And I don't really "get" stowing solace. an 8, here.
hmmyes. 9.
Your nature/interpersonal relations poems are always a joy to read, especially when they remind me that winter will be here soon.
Beautiful,
and sad. ~bzb 300 view(s)
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