Tuesday, November 20, 2007

November's Bedside

Sit by November's bedside
Mildewed with shivery trees
Damp fingers
Surrender their suffering
Death unrumples the sheets

Darkness drips from day
Long before finality reaps
And tears from stars
Coat withering harvests
With crystalline silence deep


Nothingman said...

...and its hard to hold the candle in the cold November rain?

Winter is more poetic than summer isn't it?


Anonymous said...

And we come to an end ..to rest in the womb of earth

Vixen said...

crystalline...great word. Another great poem.

Vesper said...

Oh, Jason, so beautiful, it breaks my heart...

Kaycie said...

Beautiful, Jason.

You really need to go to Europe and visit the cemeteries there. I can only imagine the gorgeous poetry you would write in Pere Lachaise.

Sarah Hina said...

November is the month of silent transition. I have never liked it, but I like your poem. It perfectly complements the gray in the sky.

Great work, Jason.

Billy said...

Very precise wording. Yes, crystalline is the word for this poem. Excellent!

The Electric Orchid Hunter said...

Old American cemeteries have a distinct look about them. Very different from old South African ones; more, erm... moist. I like the alliteration in "Darkness drips from day".

_Soulless_ said...

There is a lullaby rhythm to this that lulls me even as I read the words 'death' and 'darkness'. Mourning can be so gently portrayed. ^_^

Terri said...

I love the last three lines. Poetry indeed.

the individual voice said...

words, words, words. Your poetry is full of great ones.

Ello said...

Lovely, absolutely lovely. Happy Thanksgiving!

jason evans said...

Nothingman, you know what's weird? For some reason, each season I'm in feels like the strongest and most moving ever. I guess that keeps things fresh.

Nasra, so true! I did view November this way. The deathbed of the year.

Vixen, thanks for peeking inside my vision. :)

Vesper, even in the silence there's hope. Even in the night, light somehow sparkles in the snow.

Kaycie, someday, my friend. I'd really like to. I think I'd be overwhelmed.

Sarah, it can be difficult and unforgiving. I'm starting to see the power in it. This poem was one exploration.

Billy, I like that! For some reason, I knew the image had to end with snow. I'm glad that came across.

Electric Orchid Hunter, I do like to throw in some of that traditional poetry stuff once in a while. Northern cemeteries are even different than cemeteries in the American south. They're so much more beaten and worn away.

Soulless, I struggled so much with the rhythm, but I'm glad I stuck it out. That feel was important for me to get across.

Terri, thanks! :)

Individual Voice, it's fun to go hunting for them.

Ello, Happy Thanksgiving to you too! Have a wonderful holiday.

SzélsőFa said...

It's simply wonderful. I loved it.

ybonesy said...

have you read neruda's poem, Only Death. This line made me think of that poem:

Death unrumples the sheets

Great poem, jason. Great line!

Shameless said...

Evocative, Jason! Lovely. :-)

Joanne D. Kiggins said...

Yet another beautiful poem by you, Jason. I'm always amazed at how much depth you find in these headstone pictures you take. Great writing!

TIV: the individual voice said...

Creepily lovely.

Bernita said...

So nice, Jason.

jason evans said...

Szelsofa, thanks, my friend.

Ybonesy, I'll have to read that one.

Shameless, much appreciated.

Joanne, yes, I do find them very inspiring. Thanks for the kind words. :)

TIV, that's what I was going for.

Thanks, Bernita.