winter in Beaumont park

[eclipse]

Autumn's departing breath does not
disturb trees stolidly balanced on
winter's tightrope. I see a robin red
breast, heart on stilts, flit across
snow lit branches. I walked with
the moon unable to catch it's train
which was elusive elevated high
above me. Migrant seagulls who
will find their way home, save an
imprint of the winter moon. Acorns
wait to be recovered by a squirrel
experiencing memory's false echoes.
Ticket to hide provided by Beaumont
park to elude the multitude,
under winter's sly ascent the rose
is robbed of it's scent and furnished
with a frosty beard. My senses are
carried on the sun's rickshaw as they
follow songs of the thrush, queued that
tarry, until he detects and accords with
the trees heartbeat, the thin heat has
cured boughs of stagnant sleet, the
bird has to act upon but cannot match
the winds rough dialect discovering it
had no tongue as it crashes against
boughs. Red-wings forage to fuel their
plumage, flowers cannot persuade rain
to fall,they wait patiently for the return
of their perfume.

[David W. Parsley]

Lovely images and original development. This poem shows evidence of crafting and is much the stronger for it. A couple suggestions in that department:

 

- Line 3 rings as incomplete or false. I surmise all trees in view are in a row. If that is literally true for some area of the park, it should be singled out, even if using nothing more than the word, "here." But some other activity of the trees combined with the "tightrope" would be even stronger.

- The last line seems to fall flat after the preceding cascade of image and language. Can this be stated more "poetically"?

 

Thanks Barry,

- Dave