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Passions in Poetry

Arizona: An Ode

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Local Parasite
Deputy Moderator 10 Tours
Member Elite
since 11-05-2001
Posts 2929
Transylconia, Winnipeg


0 posted 10-04-2004 06:23 PM       View Profile for Local Parasite   Email Local Parasite   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to Submit your Poem to Passions   Click to visit Local Parasite's Home Page   View IP for Local Parasite

The birds are singing.  Winter's here,
The age of sleep, the age of death
,
But sleep denies me, and awake
I brace the spectre of my breath
Before it melts into obscurity.
Though the waking hands of ice
Freeze my eyelids, I, unblinking,
See the grass, beneath the snowflakes, sinking
As I gaze unwavering to the south
Wishing she was here to catch them in her mouth.

The birds are singing.  This is thought
And this is reason
from the trees
For they are dead, and tempt me not:
What was once a thing forbidden
In the soil implants its seeds
And cannot grow for being hidden.

The flowers hoist their necks above the surface
To unimaginable heights, and loom
Over all sense of past and purpose,
But frost is dry, and cannot bloom.
Once I held the height of glory
Ascending story upon story
To the rain that filled the brook;
The sky was overcast with grey,
When I turned my eyes to look.
Her golden rays had gone away
And there was only snow instead of rain.

For thirst, my eyes have often sought her,
Wishing snow could turn to water,
Wishing white could fill with colour,
That my breathing clouds of steam
Had the warmth to thaw the frozen stream.
Arizona!  You could never love her.

Her warmth is wasted in a foreign land:
She suns its crags, and boils the sand
While, in the clutches of a chilling flurry
Brought upon by winter's hand,
I whisper to the shadows, hurry,
Hurry back to me from Arizona.


Thus the lilies in the stream
Have since been overlaid by rust,
My watercolour garden seems
As if it were reduced to dust---
There are but shapes and corners here
Shaded by uninspiring hues
That my weary eyes peruse.

Shackled so in winter's fetters,
I can only turn to reason
With the birds, who sing me letters
From another season.
Then the frost begins to glisten,
And to every note I listen,
That I sleep, and dream of Arizona.

[This message has been edited by Local Parasite (10-04-2004 08:37 PM).]

© Copyright 2004 Brian James Lee - All Rights Reserved
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 09-21-1999
Posts 28608
California


1 posted 10-04-2004 11:47 PM       View Profile for Martie   Email Martie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Martie's Home Page   View IP for Martie

Brian

You have such amazing talent...this was superb!  Love the the warm/cool play and the passion.  
Larry C
Deputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Patricius
since 09-10-2001
Posts 10765
United States


2 posted 10-05-2004 12:02 AM       View Profile for Larry C   Email Larry C   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems   Click to visit Larry C's Home Page   View IP for Larry C

LP,
That was very cool. Martie's right again. Thanks for that.

If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.

Mysteria
Deputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 10 ToursDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Laureate
since 03-07-2001
Posts 19652
British Columbia, Canada


3 posted 10-05-2004 12:53 PM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

Well you just got sent to PoetdeVine as a card Bri, this was awesome and right about now I bet she would change hurricanes for desert. Excellent work.
Alicat
Member Elite
since 05-23-99
Posts 4277
Coastal Texas


4 posted 10-05-2004 01:17 PM       View Profile for Alicat   Email Alicat   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Alicat

I read this one yesterday, and thoroughly enjoyed the personification.  And the description of Arizona is apt for those regions south of Phoenix and Tuscon.  My response was delayed due to swelling of the hand after having to reset a dislocated finger.
Skyfyre
Senior Member
since 08-15-99
Posts 1966
Sitting in Michael's Lap


5 posted 10-05-2004 01:39 PM       View Profile for Skyfyre   Email Skyfyre   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Skyfyre

Absolutely beautiful, Brian.

The erratic rhymes kept me on the edge of my seat, eagerly reading to discover the next one.

Thank you for this; it enriched my day.
serenity blaze
Member Empyrean
since 02-02-2000
Posts 28839


6 posted 10-05-2004 02:22 PM       View Profile for serenity blaze   Email serenity blaze   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for serenity blaze

I wanted to come back to this when I had the time proper to read unhurried, and I am admittedly not qualified to comment on the technical aspects of meter and such, but you my friend, have written a sand painting that sings.

So I'll just whisper "beautiful" and leave you with an "I was here" hug.
Janet Marie
Member Laureate
since 01-22-2000
Posts 18986


7 posted 10-06-2004 09:44 PM       View Profile for Janet Marie   Email Janet Marie   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Janet Marie

The birds are singing.  Winter's here,
The age of sleep, the age of death,
But sleep denies me, and awake
I brace the spectre of my breath
Before it melts into obscurity.
Though the waking hands of ice
Freeze my eyelids, I, unblinking,
See the grass, beneath the snowflakes, sinking
As I gaze unwavering to the south
Wishing she was here to catch them in her mouth.

The birds are singing.  This is thought
And this is reason from the trees
For they are dead, and tempt me not:
What was once a thing forbidden
In the soil implants its seeds
And cannot grow for being hidden.

The flowers hoist their necks above the surface
To unimaginable heights, and loom
Over all sense of past and purpose,
But frost is dry, and cannot bloom.
Once I held the height of glory
Ascending story upon story
To the rain that filled the brook;
The sky was overcast with grey,
When I turned my eyes to look.
Her golden rays had gone away
And there was only snow instead of rain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thus the lilies in the stream
Have since been overlaid by rust,
My watercolour garden seems
As if it were reduced to dust---
There are but shapes and corners here
Shaded by uninspiring hues
That my weary eyes peruse.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


whats this??????
a poem by you thats not celebrating winter, cold and snow???

But my on my what a beauty it tis...
where does a moth begin?
One can not read this and not be taken back by the unique rhyme scheme used. It built the tempo and carried the reader along in its melodics...And then there is the impressive vocabulary and word play, adding to the cadence and assonance....
the imagery is the glorious centerpiece and the personification is beyond impressive...as is your poetic phrasing.

The age of sleep, the age of death,
But sleep denies me, and awake
I brace the spectre of my breath
~~~~~~
To unimaginable heights, and loom
Over all sense of past and purpose,
But frost is dry, and cannot bloom
~~~~~
Thus the lilies in the stream
Have since been overlaid by rust,
My watercolour garden seems
As if it were reduced to dust---


any one ever tell ya you rock???
And of course I am delighted to see one from you that speaks (so eloquently) of seasons in change.
Outstanding offering here Brian...very very cool write.

I would love to live as a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.

~Fluent~
John O'Donohue

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