Free verse № 136041
Desperate Season
Now is the chilled and stark mien
of winterâs death, running its
fingers through its frozen hair
Dark, withdrawn and without joy.
Earth is no closer to death than this,
as the planet blindly feels for light.
Ancient man watched the horizon,
seeking one stray thread of sun,
something to reassure his terror.
Dispirited cattle crunch through
ice, their hooves immersed in
half-frozen water, mud, sludge.
Lowing for their warm barn they
protest their exposure to the field.
Between the dawn and darkening
there are so few hours of living.
Beds are singing, covers hum of
warmth and desperate escape.
Will no crocus peek its head out of
the soaked and sodden earth so drear.
Will the ice never break and let spring
flow out into the land in salvation.
Then in summerâs rude glaze of heat,
the heart cannot help but remember
that abysmal time with fondness,
as if when next it came it would
be embraced.
8 comments
I also think "Dark, withdrawn and without joy" is too strong for an ordinary winter. And "terror" also seems demeaning of people who know the seasons.
Plus, my justification is that I don't use it present tense,
but future perfect.
For me, winter is dark, withdrawn and without joy.
Terror: I used the phrase ancient people - at the beginnings of time the inhabitants thought the sun was gone forever, and they would live in darkness - thus Spring Solstice, when they rejoiced
and celebrated the return of the sun and new life
I appreciate your remarks very much. They are offered sincerely and without rancor.
a little criticism: I don't care for the stanza before last. It adds no additional feeling or tone to the poem, changes its descriptive flow, and I feel it could easily be dropped altogether.
I enjoy reading your work, Sister; keep writing!
I'm with Dovina: the transition from winter to full summer needs more transitioning. Yes, it's jarring and juxtaposed. No, I don't think that helps the poem.
Otherwise, good. I'm glad you stuck around after all.
Terrific assonance and alliterations.
'Between the dawn and darkening
there are so few hours of living.'
That's a kick ass line.
'Beds are singing'
Personally, each winter I wish for summer afternoons, and each summer I look forward to a cold winter's night. The "grass is always greener", that's me.
Things I'm Not Crazy About In This Poem:
Winter's death is Spring, isn't it?
Winter's chilled and stark bearing has fingers. I cannot picture this. I can picture death or winter having fingers, but not either's mien having fingers.
Death is used twice within four lines. At first the subject is death and then the subject becomes earth's death. The inconsistency is distracting me.
Ancient man. Too vague, too broad. I know there's a better way to say this. How is beyond me(of course, it's always easier said than done). This poem has an erudite mien; 'ancient man' looks lost. Like it was looking for an elementary school textbook and somehow walked into this poem.
If the bed is singing I don't think the covers should be humming. How do you feel about the bed singing of warmth etc...? Or the bed could be singing songs of..., lullabies of..., or hymns to warmth and desperate escape. Maybe it would be best to leave the covers out of it.
The two sentences in the penultimate stanza seem like questions, yet there are no question marks. Am I reading it wrong?
That whole thing about winter not segueing into summer might be solved if you removed 'Then' from the beginning of the stanza.
Oh, I'm also very fond of 'one stray thread of sun'. Thread is a perfect metaphor; thin, elusive, and it echos the notion of a thread of hope.
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