Thursday, December 25, 2008

Christmas offering, with apologies

The chilled air stretched
cautiously under his wife.
One by one, shades

Pass boldly, full glory
of passion wither
locked heart lover's

eyes. Generous tears:
such a feeling thickly
partial, young, standing

under a dripping tree.
Other forms were near.
His soul where dwell

the vast hosts of the dead,
wayward and flickering
out into impalpable dissolving.

Light taps upon the pane:
sleepily the flakes, silver
oblique against time.

Yes, snow on every
part: plain, hills, westward,
mutinous waves falling

upon the lonely, the crooked
the spears, the barren swooned
falling faintly and faintly falling,

like the descent
of their last upon
all the living.

5 comments:

Gary said...

Good lord, why are you apologizing for this? It's beautiful!

John W. MacDonald said...

nice. who's it after? excuse my poetic ignorance...

Lemon Hound said...

It's no fun if I tell, John.

Thanks Gary.

Happy Christmas all,

Brenda Schmidt said...

Nice!

elena said...

James Joyce... The Dead...the last lines are unmistakable.
Really wonderful piece though. Thank you for this.

elena basile