In the April of Covid 19
Day 16
“he who taught their lips to sing weeps like the risen sun”Dylan Thomas
Conversation
In the remains of conversation
we kneel amid shards. Our fingertips are pebbles.
Our tongues taste the grit. The toll of centuries. We
fumble in the fragments but only the weeping wind
remembers the words of our song.
Aphrodite’s breasts rise like white loaves from the ashes.
Her shattered face with soulless eyes. Carved lips unsoft,
too late for whispered breath of love to breach the divide.
We petition the cloudless sky
for drops of autumn rain to fall upon our upturned
mouths. To slake our thirst for speech. But only dry
rattle of leaves. Only the bitter tang of truth. Stifled.
Skylover Wordlist: Conversation
Play It Again Toads: Remains
This is exquisitely drawn, Kerry!😍👏 I have long loved Aphrodite so these lines particularly draw me in; "Carved lips unsoft, too late for whispered breath of love to breach the divide."💘
ReplyDeleteI had to choose the goddess of love for the fallen statue!
Delete;)
Those ancient carvings have withstood the rough times they've been through but with a toll. I like it all, very well told. My favorite is, "only the weeping wind remembers the words of our song."
ReplyDeleteBTW, we, elderly are living at home but have moved to within walking distance of our youngest daughter and family.
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Thank you.
DeleteI could actually see the statuary in this, and the spirits you have put inside the stone remains. The curse of age is to always have been more than what is left visible, and you give us that sad refrain here, every word a clue to a more potent past. There is also a feel of the silence and separation many of us are experiencing right now, confined to our own company, and the remains that we keep in our hearts.
ReplyDeleteThat is wonderful to know, Joy. I did want to convey the sense of a couple kneeling at the foot of the fallen statue of love, a tricky one.
DeleteThe silence and separation of our lockdown days are certainly backdrop to these emotions.
Mouths filled with dust have gray convos at best. As a Gemini, I find the idea of not being able to communicate a special kind of horror.
ReplyDeleteYou and me both, Gemini sister.
DeleteI love "but only the weeping wind remembers the words of our song." Your closing lines have great impact. Wonderful, Kerry.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Sherry.
DeleteYour poetry is always so exquisite, Kerry. I'm so glad I found Toads for April. I think I am in the midst of language lessons, poetry lessons when I read your work. I say that seriously.
ReplyDeleteThe first stanza takes me to the ancient sculpture itself....I can picture the sculpture.
These lines are particularly beautiful to me:
"Her shattered face with soulless eyes. Carved lips unsoft,
too late for whispered breath of love to breach the divide."
And the ending, taking us to autumn rain and the "dry rattle of leaves" rather than the beautiful reds and golds...makes this all the more desolate for me.
Many thanks, Lillian. I trust the universe guided you to RT at the right time.
DeleteThis digs deep into my soul. We are surrounded by the weight of loss. I'm not sure what to day any more. I wonder if I am slowly walking into silence.
ReplyDeleteI think we have all had to learn to embrace silence in a different way in the last months. Thank you, Susie.
DeleteHow bleak – and at the same time, how beautiful. Masterly!
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, Rosemary.
DeleteOops... Unknown is Kerry. Signed in with the wrong gmail!!
ReplyDeleteThe image in the opening lines is so well-painted, Kerry, the remains of that conversation are tangible. I love the alliteration in ‘we fumble in the fragments’ and the sounds in the final lines:
ReplyDelete‘…But only dry
rattle of leaves. Only the bitter tang of truth. Stifled.’
this paints such a vivid image ... lending itself to the ruins of "great art" - such as it is, in the realistic, the statuary, the relics and ruins, and it also speaks of the personal, the intimate, how we fail in our closeness, intimacies - and also, on how, we now are the witnesses to a much larger ruination. This poem reminds me of a slice of mourning, of two who stumble upon this epic scene, where all has fallen and crumbled. Sort of a "decline and fall of an empire" ... etc. and yet, within its broader aspects, I feel as if I'm an initiate in an intimate setting, something smaller, like a graveyard. So in my mind's eye, the interplay and interpretations mix to a new depth and dimension. I really like this poem. Brava - you're on fire this month!
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