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badger11

Whitethorn

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badger11

Slowly seeps

A claret discarded

In a room where two books lie

While with soft sound

A Labrador sleeps warm dreams

As Night's light beads in a glass

Emptying until

Slender fingers peel

A mind as if orange rind curls and glides

Fields to fringed horizons

Where combed-back whitethorn defies

An embracing winter chill

 

In her hand a book,

spine curved and creased,

dog-eared, corner limp with wine.

Her lover lies

in dreamless sleep;

unblemished with stain

his book unread.

In tender care,

between thumb and finger,

she takes a glass

and plays a claret thread

across the virgin page.

A fiction, a tear of red,

as if as one they bled.

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dr_con

Wow Badge...

 

Haunting, surreal- a crystal moment captured as if in amber- magical and yet very grounded in an abstract now.

 

Well, well done,

 

DC&J


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tonyv

Seems to me like the poem captures a perfect moment --

 

... A Labrador sleeps warm dreams

As Night's light beads in a glass ...

 

... Her lover lies

in dreamless sleep;

unblemished with stain

his book unread ...

-- even in the way that which is going on outside, in parts far removed, is described:

 

Emptying until

Slender fingers peel

A mind as if orange rind curls and glides

Fields to fringed horizons

Where combed-back whitethorn defies

An embracing winter chill.

Feels like a most carefree time.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11
Wow Badge...

 

Haunting, surreal- a crystal moment captured as if in amber- magical and yet very grounded in an abstract now.

 

Well, well done,

 

DC&J

 

 

Thanks Dr C. An old one I 'tinker' with now and then. Especially like the mix of 'surreal' and 'grounded'

 

badge

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badger11
Seems to me like the poem captures a perfect moment --

 

... A Labrador sleeps warm dreams

As Night's light beads in a glass ...

 

... Her lover lies

in dreamless sleep;

unblemished with stain

his book unread ...

-- even in the way that which is going on outside, in parts far removed, is described:

 

Emptying until

Slender fingers peel

A mind as if orange rind curls and glides

Fields to fringed horizons

Where combed-back whitethorn defies

An embracing winter chill.

Feels like a most carefree time.

 

Tony

 

carefree?...but the second strophe would...?

 

badge

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fader

Such a sad poem! Seeking to escape the lonliness while in the same room as your love. Just my take on a hauntingly yet beautifully written poem.

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badger11
Such a sad poem! Seeking to escape the lonliness while in the same room as your love. Just my take on a hauntingly yet beautifully written poem.

 

Fader my old poetic comrade always pleased to see your words and yes loneliness is often intense with those that matter.

 

hope all is well

 

badge

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Lake

I remember I read it before and posed a question on the title "whitethorn" for its symbolic significance. All I know about whitethron's (hawthorn) fruits is that they taste sweet and sore, if that's one thing the pome tends to convery.

 

It's such a delicate and tender write and the ambience created carries a sense of laziness, stillness, and loneliness.

 

I paused at "unblemished with stain" though, trying to figure out if it is stained or not. If it is unblemished, then why do we need "with stain"? Is this for emphasis?

 

Always a pleasure to read you.

 

Lake

Edited by Lake

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tonyv
carefree?...but the second strophe would...?

 

badge

Badge, I'm not sure. I was enamored with the cozy mood of the first verse, but there does seem to be something sinister lurking beneath the surface of the second.

 

Her lover lies

in dreamless sleep ...

 

In tender care,

between thumb and finger,

she takes a glass

and plays a claret thread

across the virgin page.

A fiction, a tear of red,

as if as one they bled.

Dreamless sleep, a glass (of poison?), "as if one they bled" -- perhaps it's a murder-suicide or even a Romeo and Juliet style double-suicide. The poem is certainly thought-provoking ... intriguing.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11

Stains come about with awareness, guilt, a sense of loss, waste, disillusionment, experience.

 

A girl once told me she cried when she lost her virginity because the boy said 'Is that all it is?'

 

Thank you for remembering Lake.

 

all the best

 

badge

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badger11

Thanks for re-visiting Tony.

 

She shared her dream, he had no dreams to share. Her journey away from fiction to experience.

 

badge

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tonyv
Thanks for re-visiting Tony.

 

She shared her dream, he had no dreams to share. Her journey away from fiction to experience.

 

badge

I like it. I started to see it after I read your most recent reply to Lake. There's a sadness and apathy present. The lover lies in "dreamless sleep" -- he rolled over and went to sleep as though the experience was something trivial -- and she is left to imagine, to pretend, "as if as one they bled." Still not sure if I'm on the mark ...

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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badger11
I like it. I started to see it after I read your most recent reply to Lake. There's a sadness, an apathy, present. The lover lies in "dreamless sleep" -- he rolled over and went to sleep as if the experience was something trivial --

 

Tony

 

spot-on!

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goldenlangur

Hi badge,

 

I too remember this poem - haunting and full of unfulfilled ache - they share a moment, perhaps life and all the images suggest an attempt at intimacy but she is left with the stains of regret and unfulfilment:

 

she takes a glass

and plays a claret thread

across the virgin page.

A fiction, a tear of red,

as if as one they bled.

 

It is as if she is looking for a meaning or significance which is not there. You've created a great onomatopoeic impact here.

 

The languid, sensuous tone contrasts well with the lingering or pooling of her regret and disillusionment - an anticlimax of sorts.

 

 

I still love the sonority in this.


goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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Aleksandra
Her lover lies

in dreamless sleep;

unblemished with stain

his book unread.

 

What a poem badge. This is one of your best. I loved to read this one. I enjoyed reading all comments and thoughts here for the poem and I am amazed by all readings, and the most from your poem.

 

Very interesting metaphors you use in some special way. This poem has a spirit.

 

Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece.

 

Aleksandra


The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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