Ennui

Lorna



Hazy trailing of one's fingers

Through hanging boughs

In Uncle Vanya's garden

The heat of summer

Dragging at one's feet

Supine beneath the willow

Hand on forehead

Springing turf to rest on as a pillow

Ambition lost

A passive giving in

To giving up

Desultory emptying of the cup

  • Author: Lorna (Offline Offline)
  • Published: August 17th, 2021 05:15
  • Comment from author about the poem: For LB - Ennui
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 61
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, rebmasters
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments7

  • Classicmister

    Lovely evocative words Lorna - Sadly not much summer weather here in UK!

    • Lorna

      Thank you! Enjoy your day weather or no.............

    • orchidee

      Good write Lorna.

    • L. B. Mek

      simply, Awesome!
      'The heat of summer
      Dragging at one's feet
      Supine beneath the willow
      Hand on forehead
      Springing turf to rest on as a pillow'
      (a beautifully vivid depiction
      and such an immersive read
      despite its melancholic feel,
      thank you dear poet)
      Ennui: Indeed, 😉

    • Doggerel Dave







      But Lorna , I'm still not sure if Uncle Vanya flogged off the estate or not.. ..
      A bit attention seeking with that vial, wasn't he?




      • Lorna

        He ran off to down under to see the Southern Cross............

        • Doggerel Dave

          Did he get in before lock down? I hope customs searched his baggage properly .. they are in enough trouble here, don't want his corpse in hotel quarantine...

          Rich little write, BTW.

        • Poetic Dan

          Thank you for sharing

        • Goldfinch60

          Resting in the sun can be so inspiring.

          Andy

        • cosmacpan

          if you want...

          Uncle Vania sold his garden
          and bought a cherry orchard
          knowing that the spring
          will dress in white just for him
          the clouds are crying
          without giving up the blue of the sky
          as for boredom
          it's not an obligation.
          it's a state of affairs
          which urges to
          introspection



        To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.