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Aleksandra

Craven's Song

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Aleksandra

kukavica.jpg

 

 

Sorrow and bones on the ground

The dust spinning my face.

craven start to sing on my window.

The fog won the battle

with view of the sun

took by storm.

The bones are all around

on the green grass

The cravens are still singing

and keeps the field of death

Few alive eyes,

are looking for the nightingales.

Where are they.

Why they are not singing...

Just song by the cravens.

Oh there is no time.

Too long song...

The bones are going under ground.

The opened eyes are closing...

Sorrows, Death, cravens on the field

and tearful eyes watching

by the window.


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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tonyv

Aleksandra,

 

You know this is one of my favorite poems of yours. The imagery is bleak -- reminiscent of that first scene in Dr. Zhivago (the burial scene) -- and the expressions are melancholic and lovely. My favorites:

 

 

Sorrow and bones on the ground

The dust spinning my face.

craven start to sing on my window ...

 

Few alive eyes,

are looking for the nightingales.

Where are they.

Why they are not singing...

Just song by the cravens ...

 

The bones are going under ground.

The opened eyes are closing...

Sorrows, Death, cravens on the field

and tearful eyes watching

by the window.

 

 

I love this beautiful poem. Thank you for posting it!

 

 

Tony :)


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

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

ah aleksandra such a sad song for a wonderful creature. this birds song is defenitely unique.

 

victor


Larsen M. Callirhoe

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goldenlangur

songs of sorrow

 

Hello Alek,

 

 

What a melancholy tone your poem has - is this bird and its song a harbinger of ominous news? But th epoet already seems immersed in visions of death, burial, the end of the physical body, while the spirit and what remins of it after the assaults in life is weighted down by this sorrowful song in the heart.

 

 

Nature here offers no solace - the poet's pain and sadness echo in everything around her:

 

 

kukavica.jpg

 

Oh there is no time.

Too long song...

The bones are going under ground.

The opened eyes are closing...

Sorrows, Death, cravens on the field

and tearful eyes watching

by the window.

 

 

 

Poignant and beautifully expressed.

 

 

 

goldenlangur


goldenlangur

 

 

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

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Mr. M

I think I must agree with Tony...so reminescent of Dr. Zhivago. It is a favorite movie of mine.

 

:)

M

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Aleksandra
Aleksandra,

 

You know this is one of my favorite poems of yours. The imagery is bleak -- reminiscent of that first scene in Dr. Zhivago (the burial scene) -- and the expressions are melancholic and lovely. My favorites:

 

 

Sorrow and bones on the ground

The dust spinning my face.

craven start to sing on my window ...

 

Few alive eyes,

are looking for the nightingales.

Where are they.

Why they are not singing...

Just song by the cravens ...

 

The bones are going under ground.

The opened eyes are closing...

Sorrows, Death, cravens on the field

and tearful eyes watching

by the window.

 

 

I love this beautiful poem. Thank you for posting it!

 

 

Tony :)

 

Ah Tony, thank you for your comment, and as I said before, I am pleased bc this poem reminds you on that movie what I watched long time ago, while I was little girl :P.

You are always so nice my dear

 

Aleksandra x


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
ah aleksandra such a sad song for a wonderful creature. this birds song is defenitely unique.

 

victor

 

Hey my dear Victor, thank you for your words. I am glad because this poem worked as should to be works. And bw where are you? I miss you. I hope you are well and all is fine there with you.

I wait for your voice my friend.

 

Aleksandra


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
Hello Alek,

 

 

What a melancholy tone your poem has - is this bird and its song a harbinger of ominous news? But the poet already seems immersed in visions of death, burial, the end of the physical body, while the spirit and what remins of it after the assaults in life is weighted down by this sorrowful song in the heart.

 

Nature here offers no solace - the poet's pain and sadness echo in everything around her:

 

 

Oh there is no time.

Too long song...

The bones are going under ground.

The opened eyes are closing...

Sorrows, Death, cravens on the field

and tearful eyes watching

by the window.

 

Poignant and beautifully expressed.

goldenlangur

 

Thank you a lot goldenlangur for your such a beautiful comment. Yes these kinds of birds are bringing bad news, they are known as messengers for bad news. And thats why I used cravens, and I had problems with this word, because in English language is more used - ravens and it is not same bird.

And the melancholy tone is the right sense what I wanted to give in this poem

 

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.

 

Aleksandra


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Aleksandra
I think I must agree with Tony...so reminescent of Dr. Zhivago. It is a favorite movie of mine.

 

:)

M

 

 

:) Thank you Michael. I am glad for that.

Hope you are fine too.

 

Aleksandra


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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Tinker

Hi aleks, I love the images of this poem....

 

My favorite lines

The fog won the battle

with view of the sun

took by storm.

 

Sadness permeates this poem. I want to send you a bluebird, the bird of happiness, to chase the cravens away.

 

~~Tink


~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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Aleksandra

Ah Tinker you are so kind and so sweet. Thank you my dear. I need different " birds " around me, different messengers, so the bluebird will be just fine

 

Thank you so much for your lovely comment.

 

Aleksandra


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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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