"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Epitaph

Caught between sky and earth,
Poor stupid animal,
Stripped naked to the wall,
He saw the blundered birth
Of daemons beyond sound.
Sick of the dark, he rose
For love, and now he goes
Back to the broken ground.
James Wright


All Rights Reserved
Photograph colourized by
Frederic Duriez


XXX

It is the day, we bid farewell to
at its death, and its corpse
we carry from this battleground
with simple benediction.
Once we welcomed the light
but not when it rolled
and broke upon this strand
of the maimed and shone
too brightly on the flotsam
of the wrack without care.
This day must be interred
with all the other nameless
fallen days, and we who live
salute, recall each particular
grain we ever breathed of sun.


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Björn is out host for the final day of NaPoWriMo, with his prompt Particle-Wave Dualism.
It seems a fitting day for an epitaph, thus I have returned to the theme of war, and the photographic genius of Frederic Duriez.

Since the images have automatic links at the Source to be shared on multiple social platforms, I have selected one for this post. If the owner of the image objects to the manner and purpose for which it is displayed, please contact the Blog author.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Valediction

if I was dead,
and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,

I swear your love
would raise me
out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood
Carol Ann Duffy


Night Fires
Agnes Lawrence Pelton
Fair Use


XXIX

If I had known,
the day before you left,
that the cold fires of dawn
would never be as warm,

nor that birdsong
would not be written
for me alone, but that I
would hear it as a stranger;

if I had known
you were never to return
with the turning tide
to the harbour of my bed,

nor to reply when
the winds followed you,
calling in my lonely voice
with its plea to come home;

if I had known
the hour of my loss,
I might have died
slowly upon the last kiss,

or saved my tears
and stoked the night fires
with your name, until love
was burnt to ashes.


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Sailing away with Brendan's Penultimatums in the Imaginary Garden.

I am bringing together a few of the April prompts in this piece, with a quote from Carol Ann Duffy's poem If I Was Dead and the artwork of Agnes Lawrence Pelton.
And I echo Brendan's words on the penultimate day of NaPoWriMo:
It whispers in one ear, You're done now, while at the same time exclaiming in the other: But what a journey it was ... I have learnt so much and may still have a few tales to tell.