This Time.
Holed with stary vermillion November's
clear sky spreads eerie welcome
to homing's slow footsteps.
Bound by hilly heathers this gentlest
of valleys strikes tired heartstrings
when mem'ries start sinking.
This time she notes recalled aromas
of moorland's' mauve wildness
and as twilight's finger striates horizon
her roamer's eyes widen
at missed noise of thunderous ocean
pounding high cliffs of the cove.
Need's deep insistence pierces absence,
punctures stale failure
as her feet turn again to seek familiar
away from ambition and
when previous pleasures of ghost-like
nostalgia rustle worn chains
with notions for freedom she decides
that this time she must stay.
-
Author:
Fay Slimm. (
Offline) - Published: November 22nd, 2021 02:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 53
- User favorite of this poem: spilleronsheet.
Offline)
Comments7
Beautiful words of wonderful memories Fay.
Andy
This time I am reading your poem and saying good write Fay!
I often wonder whether there is an awareness of the precise moment when something clicks and .. bingo, one just knows for sure that moment is now and a decision has been made without it being consciously thought ... so apart from the obvious beauty of your words today, that is the dreamy place they took me ...................
Neville ....................................... x
This sounds so energetic
It gave me feels of a traveller, a dreamer
And the words ornamented so well
Loved these lines of yours-
“Need's deep insistence pierces absence,
punctures stale failure
as her feet turn again to seek familiar
away from ambition and
when previous pleasures of ghost-like
nostalgia rustle worn chains
with notions for freedom she decides
that this time she must stay. “
Lost for words here, Fay - I can feel it - the embrace and rightness of this place. ...but appropriate expression not available to me. Your poem however.....
'Bound by hilly heathers
this gentlest of valleys, strikes
tired heartstrings
when mem'ries, start sinking.'
(makes me want to get-up
put together a hiking backpack
and just get lost, in the hills
of our beloved Blighty's, abundant
Nature paths, to gift myself
a seasonal, last hurrah
healing escapade
before Winter, rushes-in
and makes it all
a pipe dream) lol
loved the way you accentuated, the intuitive conversational elements
that bonding with nature, sometimes yields
a great write, dear Fay
Nostalgia and the graceful acceptance of circumstance flow through me as I read your so well composed post today.
I suppose ageing and having lived a bit give us that grace to accept as our lives change and the taken for granted surrounding become ever dearer to our very existence as we blend with the turn of nature itself.
I know I shall want this for keeps, into my favourites for sure.
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