above this tenacious entanglement of bramble
the trees stand sparse
hunched over in permanent battered submission
to wind punishing from the west
each akin to a brittle witches broomstick
worn and bent from use
no place to imagine romance's blossom
though so it would become
many years after those kite flying days
and purple stained ripe berry fingers
first knew the softness of her lips
and felt the lure of her smile
turning now into the eyewatering wind
he gazed to the smudge of distant moonlit horizon
nature's fantasy, melding sea and sky
where his dreams of what could have been
met with the promise of what should have been
still haunting his troubled nights
regrets pulsed against the ragged storm
raging through his frame
all too familiar sensations repeated ripenings
the wind sang in his ears
sang her name
he must never come here again.
-
Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: March 17th, 2022 03:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, Rocky Lagou.
Offline)
Comments6
'turning now into the eyewatering wind
he gazed to the smudge of distant moonlit horizon
nature's fantasy, melding sea and sky
where his dreams of what could have been
met with the promise of what should have been
still haunting his troubled nights'
(some of our reverie, rivers
cut, too deep
for us to swim, within
so we merely, dip
our fingers of poetic ink
and recall, briefly
in some choice, words
we pen, illuminatingly bright
to hide
our shadows of regret
and then, just as quickly
file away
our write, to those untameable seas
of our once, cherished
past)
simply Brilliant! your poetry
at its most poignant Best, Dusk
thank you! dear cherished Poet
Love your lines there LBM. and thank you for your valued compliment.
"where his dreams of what could have been
met with the promise of what should have been" I mean do I have to say any further. Really this was a poem full of meaning and imagery so divine. I love the way you described this and the second stanza serving as a little flashback to the past of the "good old days." Tumultuous and wonderful.
Poetry of love and loves lost for me is all the better for containing some tangeable root or flashback to give it authenticity especially when so relateable for every male i.e. soft lips and beguiling smiles. We've all had those early moments. Thank u Rocky.
This is a wonderful piece of poetry, Dusk! I don't know what else to say but great job on this!!
Thank you Christina, It's really nice to be appreciated, I hovvered over this piece for weeks.
An intriguing write. Open to interpretation, is this the thought of a romance that never occurred or one of which the end result was not what had been expected. The reference to the west infers death and was this relationship interrupted by such and regrets the result. Which ever the resolution to never return to this place is a lesson learned.
I can't answer your question because I created the mood only not the story.... that bit i left to my reader.. I'm sure there are many intepretations. Thank you for your comment here. The whole thing was inspired by the stooping trees you can find along the north coast of cornwall where the west wind really blows. Hence my reference to the west.
Wonderful words d a, those memories can be so painful at time so we must always look forward in our lives.
Andy
Thank you Andy. This is a piece of imagination and mystery though, not a part of my life.
being an avid admirer of words, I would be lying if I denied, or played down my deep admiration for those you have so eloquently laid down for for my consideration & enjoyment today ... or rather yesterday it would appear ..........the term splendid would surely be an understatement DA ........... N
Thank you Neville. It's a thing those bent over trees along the north Cornwall coast do to my imagination. They seem to have many stories they could tell.... this was almost one of them...
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