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Arizona: An Ode
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Arizona: An Ode |
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Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg 
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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).] |
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| © Copyright 2004 Brian James Lee - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Brian You have such amazing talent...this was superb! Love the the warm/cool play and the passion.  |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
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. |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
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. |
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Alicat Member Elite
since 1999-05-23
Posts 4094Coastal Texas |
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.  |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
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. |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
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.  |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
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. |
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