Etude

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 25 May 2014
  • 1312 reads
8 comments
 
It was spring, that first morning.
I woke before you...feeling like a bird
that puts its faith in instincts older than time
itself that feels light when the dawn is dark.
 
Then the frosts began again, and together
we watched shelterless stars, huddled
together, quavering in the freezing air.
 
The Great Hunter rode – resplendent 
and glittering, the contour of the ridge,
as you gathered me inside in your coat
 
like a wandering cloud envelops
the hilltop; I remember it smelled
of applewood smouldering on a bonfire,
of gun-oil, and petrol...and Woodbines.
 
And today, a day of rain, and clogged-up 
drains...overflowing gutters, broken branches, 
and streets that shone electric blue; spring 
has gone with you.
Certificate PG
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Nature
Love

Comments

Submitted by torscot on

I liked  this,   "...quavering in the freezing air...' makes you want  to wrap your hands around a mug of cocoa.

And this "...of gun-oil, and petrol...and Woodbines..."

Suggests to me that you should post an entry into the  'Competition'

Regards.

 

 

 

torscot

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

torscot - indebted to you.smiley

Many thanks

Tina

 

Submitted by jeand on

Hi Tina

This is a lovely word picture, delicate and yet carrying such strong emotion.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Much obliged to you, Jean. Pleased you enjoyed.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Smells are so evocative. I loved the image and the feeling of 'as you gathered me inside in your coat like a wandering cloud envelops the hilltop' and that last stanza just squeezed sadness out of me. I always think you paint with words, Tina, and this is no exception. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Such a lovely thing to say, Bee.  Thank yousmiley

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Hi Tina,

I cannot pick out a favourite stanza in this poem,  as each one captures all the scenses,  from the moment the bird does what comes naturally,  to the feelings of being at one with another,  to the wandering cloud that envelopes the hill top...to the redolence of the applewood smouldering on a bonfire,  of gun-oil,  and petrol...and Woodbines.  Then that last stanza finishes the poem off nicely.

Great read as always.

Jenny.

 

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thank you , so very much, Jenny.  Your words mean a great deal to me.

Tina