In the April of Covid 19
Day 19
“And for the woman in shades saint carved and sensual among the scudding dead and gone”Dylan Thomas
Pity
The crouching angel
beside my grave
feeds despair
into the empty mouths
of spring
beckons
while frost sharpens
its blades along the throat
of crocus
whose wound bleeds
blue and saffron
down the dark edge
of wistful dawn.
Pity on the living
who forget death comes
with the lightening.
Skylover Wordlist: Beckon
Play It Again Toads: Get Listed in April!
This is incredibly potent, Kerry!💘 The image of frost sharpening its blade "along the throat of crocus," speaks to me and reminds me of the fragility of life. If only mankind would pay more heed.
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, Sanaa. Such lovely words to work with.
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Delete“whose wound bleeds
ReplyDeleteblue and saffron
down the dark edge
of wistful dawn”
That’s incredible.
Thank you for coming over to read!
Deleteoh, walk softly, walk softly ... listen and hear....
ReplyDeletethis is so finely crafted and tuned, a dirge that breathes yet for another moment of light -
there is such a delicacy in these words Kerry, I feel as if they are written in a fine-hand crafted spider's lace, liable to blow away if the winds (death) blow too harshly - yet how tenuous our grip, yet still, tenacious -
I suspect that the only wonder in these dark times is that life continues to pulse on, without our hands on - perhaps that is the miracle of it all.
Anyhow, just a lovely poem.
Yes, there are miracles, recoveries, happy endings alongside the tragedy and avoidable deaths. To be living through these times, or dying through these times is historic.
DeleteThe brevity here merely makes each word weigh twice as full. I was especially struck by "...while frost sharpens/its blades along the throat/of crocus..." A mood piece that also filters like a bright beam into the mind, swirling dust motes of thought and emotion in its dance.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your lovely response, Joy.
DeleteI love "down the dark edge of wistful dawn."
ReplyDeleteI am glad you liked that line, Sherry.
DeleteKerry, I love 'while frost sharpens
ReplyDeleteits blades along the throat
of crocus'- that is such a powerful image.
Inspired by the beautiful pictures of Spring from the northern hemisphere, so completely imagined from my Autumn.
DeleteI have never read anything that talks about death with such desirable words... pity the living.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Bjorn. In my experience, dying is easier than living, but still we strive to fight another day.
DeleteYes, each word carries such power in the poem's brevity."while frost sharpens its blades along the throat of crocus" What a powerful visual, expression of winter's invasion of spring.
ReplyDeleteI am hearing of the late frosts of April... and the early blooms perishing. That is where that image comes from.
DeleteOoh, this is ominous! The words, though, are so beautiful. E.g. 'down the dark edge / of wistful dawn' – yum! And oh, what a pleasure to see 'lightening' used so perfectly, and not as the all-too-common mistake for 'lightning'.
ReplyDeleteSorry, first posted this in the wrong spot, hence the 'delete' above.)
Yes, lightening, as to lighten with the dawn.
DeleteThanks for spotting that, Rosemary.
I love the shades and nuances in this poem, Kerry. The image of the crouching angel is dark, and the contrast with the white frost sharpening ‘its blades along the throat of crocus’ is stunning.
ReplyDeleteI have been trying to work with those contrasts this month, Kim. So glad to know they are coming across to the reader.
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