Echoed thoughts from a winters walk

By alphadog1

Fri, 08 Feb 2013
  • 579 reads
5 comments
 

Burnt Orange and pale turquoise
Light,shines behind the winter trees;
It mutates them into beings; whose coarse hair
Now stretches out along the high spine.
Their cold cracking, splitting finger's,
Tease slowly out and extend into the night,
Sending a portent that everything is alive!
It’s here, caught by this fragile daylight,
That mortality can be fully embraced.
I witness it in the shadow of myself
that can be seen, slowly dying by inches,
changing from the physical into spiritual:
Giving way to galaxies of glistening stars
So dazzling, so fiery, so wonderfully white.
And as the burnt orange fades to bloody red,
A growling wild pig Iron sky descends.
It is within the swirling of the growing gloom,
The tree's mutter; and in their delicate kisses,
Through those subtle sweet hinted at hisses,
I sense a taste of whispered terror,
creep inward upon my mind.
And as the soothing birds of evening,
sing the suns goodbye,
They then herald in
the rising of the golden moon sublime
This is where time...suddenly stops.

c-adh 2013

Certificate PG
Nature

Comments

Submitted by scratch on
This is great AD1. Should it be 'I' or should it be 'myself' (or more simply still 'me') in the ninth line? I especially like the hair and the spine image and the pig iron sky (powerful). Cheers matey.

 

Submitted by alphadog1 on
I gotta work on this one :) thanks for the insight

 

Submitted by alphadog1 on
I have made more changes Scratch still messing with it. :)

 

Submitted by scratch on
I have become less of a fan of capitals at the start of each line in poetry - although I've done plenty like that myself! Of course I can quite see why you have chosen to present it like this AD1. Just a thought that's all. :D

 

Submitted by alphadog1 on
I tend to agree its a bit archaic, and I know I do it a lot, but this poem is about the sublime, and I used it sort of knowingly. :) The sublime was a phrase coined by Byron to connect the inner mind and out world, and only the "romantic" poet was able to tap into it. (though I am not sure that is totally true myself) For something to have sublimity, a force of nature has to become personified, or animalised or animated. This creative act was used by Romantic poets to engage, entice and excite their readers. We live in a visual age, and have more or less, (perhaps a generalization, but an opinion based upon observation, none the less) given up on using the minds eye, our gateway to creativity, as a source of leisure. This is due in some small way to technology (TV, cinema and interactive games) I do not count the theater in this as Victorians had the theater as a means of expanding creativity, as they had Museums and art galleries. In the Victorian age books were an outlet, a vital source of inner creativity, and on the whole available to all, for a relatively small fee after the public library's act of 1850. Prior to this, Books could be bought in triple Decker volumes from book distributes and on sale in shops. What I am trying to get at, (rather poorly I might add) that the book was a readily available source of entertainment for most of the population. This led to a literate population that expected to be entertained, both here and abroad. The Poem, the short story and the novel allowed the Victorian mind to paint pictures with the words they read; and that led to the growth of the sublime in creative work... as seen clearly in Wuthering heights. (the latest book I have been studying) I am of the opinion, that many have lost touch with this part of their nature. We need it's outlet. which is why this poem has that archaic feel to it. sorry for the waffle :)x