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Open Poetry #47
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A Widowers Lament
| Open Poetry #47 |
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A Widowers Lament |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana 
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He lives alone in the old homestead Drinks clear spring water, eats the bread Townswomen bring him because they care He nods as he sits on the front porch chair. The old woman who used to live there Left two winters ago, her name was Claire. Walked out the door as if exiting a stage Into the arms of a lover half her age. The homestead looks worse than before Fences falling down, he does no chores. Wildwoods grow right into the backyard The front yard's littered up to the cattle guard. The old house seems to disrepair each day It mirrors the man, it's no longer gay. Every new wrinkle on him that comes each day A shingle, a window, the house gives way. From where he sits upon the rotting porch A small fire one day left a window charred. A worn path leads toward the spring-fed well Beside it a long pole, on top a bell. His woman used to ring it at dinnertime He'd stop his work and wash off the grime. Take a huge drink of water from the spring Went inside, said grace, 'ere eating a thing. Sometimes you can hear him grunt and moan Talking to something which is quite unknown. Even under radiant stars and huge moon In the middle of the day, even at noon. Someone shares this dreary place with him Carries on conversations, not just a whim. The recall of Claire is what we suppose As we walk by his place sometimes he glows. Claire loved the starkness of winters chilly Springtime blooms, no, she relished dead lilies. She walked the brittle earth, her feet did glide The tundra froze hard like her soul inside. Days went by and as we grew into men There was about the place something like Zen. The barren trees around the sad abode Seemed, one and all, to adhere to a code. They refused to bloom when springtime came It was, ah, as though they had passed the blame. The season's came and the season's passed on The untilled ground no crops did it spawn. The house oozed sorrow because life was gone The woods remained naked, unclothed; drawn. The ground around the house reeked of decay And when you passed by you had need to pray. His sorrow had poisoned home and hearth He hears her speak to him from the birch. It's a cold and fearful message she repeats Laughing coldly, says come to my cold meat. Yesterday he hearkened to Claire's lament Went into the winter woods; he'd been bent. She had loved the barren December nights And strode about under the cold moon bright. We saw his body from the road as we passed He lay in a clearing of sweet peat grass. He held a dead rose, all we could do was stare Nearby two lumps of earth, her lover and Claire. ~* If they give you lined paper, write the other way. ~*~ |
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| © Copyright 2011 Jerry Pat Bolton - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Michael
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-13
Posts 7666California |
Eerie this. It's scary what lament can drive a person to do, but in many ways, one dies with a lover though they must carry on with the living. I have seen such... a man completely engulfed in misery after losing his wife, to be found dead and smiling, when no one could recall ever seeing him smile since her death. Enjoyable write... most appropriate for the weather we are having here... gloomy, overcast, mire of the damned type weather. I can hear the ghosts wailing outside with this one. Michael |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Appreciate it Michael. There are many ways to deal with the pain and despair of losing a loved one, and this poem points out just one of them. Sometimes there is so much heartache it truly drives you insane. ~* If they give you lined paper, write the other way. ~*~ |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
“Someone shares this dreary place with him Carries on conversations, not just a whim. The recall of Claire is what we suppose As we walk by his place sometimes he glows.” Piercingly sad, this verse points to the misery best. Enjoyed the read. JL  Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself. |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Thank you, JL. Heartbreak is a creeping pain unlike anything else in this world. We all deal with it in our own personal way, and sometimes it takes us on a long and lonely ride. ~* The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.--Oliver Wendell Holmes ~*~ |
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
great piece of work here Jerry, your response to JL says it all about the poem. Lori |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
Good morning, Lori, and many thanks for the nice words about "A Widowers Lament." ~* The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.--Oliver Wendell Holmes ~*~ |
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suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
What a wonderful story!!! And you've told it so very well!!! It reminds me a bit of the old George Jones song "He Stopped Loving Her Today"... Some loves cease only when breath does. Fantastic write!! |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
WoW! You have made my day, suthern. Comparing my work with ole Possum's puts me in some mighty high cotton, and I absolutely thank you. ~*~ The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, |
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