How nice
To drink a coffee as I think
About what to write, but try as I might
There is no delight
For I find that coffee spilt
Wilt
My device break
And I have had to take
The darned thing almost thrice
To the store.
No more
Shall I drink
As I think
While sitting next to my machine
For I glean
That computers and drinks do not mix
And laptops can not always be fixed …!
Leaves swish, like water
As I walk through
Them to reach the park. ‘Tis true
Autumn is still here,
Yet, I fear that winter will give no quarter,
For each season does murder it’s daughter,
Who dies not but rather sleeps
And creeps
Forth to softly kill
Her father who will
Rise once more.
As it was before
So it will remain. The perpetual cycle
Of the seasons, a vital order does bring.
Spring
Follows winter stern.
Buds return
And soon,
Come summer, flowers will bloom.
Autumn imperceptibly doth replace
Summer’s flushed face,
While the Fall’s slow decay
Whispers “winter is on his way”.
You are unknown to me.
True we made free
But who
Can see
Into the human heart?
Not I.
Fireworks die
And I
Am left alone with my art.
I have known many of your kind
And find
It strange how birds of diverse feather
Flock together.
Yet it is not so peculiar after all.
For in many a girl’s pretty face
We trace
Man’s fall
From grace
And Milton following,not far behind.
Image license obtained Copyright: mab0440 / 123RF Stock Photo
In honour of Bonfire or Guy Fawkes night, (November 5th), I am linking to some of my poems touching on that occasion:
There was a young man called Guy
Who, like Icarus, wanted to fly.
He jumped off Big Ben
At a quarter to ten.
I really don’t understand why!
Took just a moment
To look beyond the moment
That didn’t matter
©2016 Annette Rochelle Aben
To those who died that you and me
Might live free.
To those who gave their sweet breath for King and Countrie.
I regret that yesterday
I had no cash to pay
For a poppy deep red
To remember the dead.
I will not know the stench
Of trench
Nor the wrench
Of fear
And pain as spear
Drains the life away.
What can the poet say
Who has never known
The touch of steel against bone?
We die alone
But most will peaceful go
And will not know
The woe
Of comrades lost,
Nor count the cost
Of bloody strife.
They will not give their life
That others (you and me)
May live free.
Having only my debit card I regret to say
That I could not buy
A blood red
Poppy to remember the dead
As I wended my way
To my nine to five job yesterday.
“Tell me, what do you see?
As you gaze at yonder tree
Where squirrels jump from branch to branch
And leaves in the late Autumn air dance?
On seeing the fox, who strolls through the garden as though he owns the place
Do you trace in his wild face,
your fellow canine? And does his sharp bark
That oft times pearces the dark
Find an answering echo within your loyal dog heart?
Watching the world pass
Through my window glass,
Tell me
What do you see
As you gaze beyond yonder tree?”
The continuing analysis by Interesting Literature of Eliot’s “The Wasteland”.
A reading of the fourth part of The Waste Land
‘Death by Water’ is by far the shortest of the five sections of T. S. Eliot’s 1922 poem The Waste Land. The section which precedes it, ‘The Fire Sermon’, is 234 lines – over half of the entire length of the poem. Why is ‘Death by Water’ so short? We’re going to attempt a brief summary of this section of the poem here, along with some words of analysis. You can read ‘Death by Water’ here.
Any analysis of ‘Death by Water’ must contend with the question: how come this fourth section is so much shorter than the other four which make up The Waste Land? Well, it wasn’t originally. In [The Facsimile of the Original Drafts] (a must-read for any serious student of Eliot’s poem), we discover a much longer draft involving a crew of men…
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Interesting take on the desire of humans to make contact with aliens.
The clocks have gone back, and it’s getting dark earlier and earlier, but there is still a blackbird singing in the garden, although there is also the smell of wood smoke in the air – from a bonfire, I would guess – and a definite chill in the air. The autumn leaves have been exceptionally beautiful this year, seeming to have an extra couple of tones of red and orange. And there are still plenty of late flowers out. I may be a summer person, but it is decidedly beautiful at the moment..
I said I’d take part in NaNoWriMo this year, didn’t I? What on earth could I have been thinking of?
Did I really commit to writing over a thousand words a day all through the month?
Oh, for goodness sake! I’ve not even had time to look at anyone’s posts for the last five days, let alone…
View original post 1,215 more words
