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Nov. 29th, 2011 at 5:33 PM
"Never Mind"
Denver Butson
that guests no longer come unannounced
or that the photo album contains pictures
of much younger people than we remember being
never mind that swallows etch Sanskrit
on the wrinkled sky
it's November
and the present is emptying its wine
into our glasses
never mind that we're not touching now
because our shadows are holding hands
in the dark behind our backs
(copied from
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exceptindreams)
Comments
response: Seasons
The wind is whistling through the trees
Crisp, clear air of autumn has begun the winter freeze
Hills which once were blanketed with multi-colored leaves
Now stand denuded - bare and cold
If trees could only talk - what stories could be told!
The wind is lapping quietly upon the placid waters
Sun is breaking through the clouds - sunbeams dance like daughters
Upon the slowly moving waves
My eyes opened . . . and caught hers
Looking upward to a snowy mountain peak
The beauty of the moment made it difficult to speak
The wind is whisp'ring words of spring
Accompanied by sounds of many birds on wing
Returning from their winter roosts to serenade and sing
The coming of the springtime thaw
Release of the dear land from winter's icy jaw
The wind is bringing summer's balm
Back to my isolated island - so peaceful and so calm
The seasons have both come and gone - each with its own psalm
Each one different - each one curiously the same
One season may bring poverty - the next one may bring fame
The seasons come and they depart
And each one has its cycle
The winds of change are in the air
They're playing with my heart
But I'm not sure of what they're saying
Should I leave - should I be staying
Is this portion of my life maturing . . .
Or is it . . . instead . . . decaying . . .
Re: response: Seasons
Re: response: Seasons
On 24 October I had written a piece with the first line of: "Images . . . perceptions . . . pictures in my mind" and it was over a dozen years later I realized the title was the last four words of the last line.
Likewise with one on 21 October, first line: "So out of place - out of step - so . . . out of time" and again, years went by before I realized the title was in the last line of the poem!
"If it were a snake, it would've bit me!"
Re: response: Seasons