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Song of the Autumn Evening
The sky is dimming; the high tide flows.
The moon is showing; the green grass blows.
The chilling northern breeze has replaced the warmth of the southern wind,
and the high-privileged Yankees win the war again.
Hope and despair make show of the other.
The house becomes serener in its intimate company,
and the outside environment becomes tender pain melody.
A person could quietly turn to frost in the open night
while another is set ablaze with love.
And we all want to be the latter one
and have a test of our luck with the southern belle.
When Christmas comes, we want to see her smile greet the Christmastime snow
and make the soft white twinkle like the morning sun makes it do.
The sky is dimming; the air is getting cold.
I see her star-sparkling.
Encountering her shimmering glossy eyes, I say, "Hello."
But I've got no chance with her.
This I've come to know.
So I freeze
in the welcoming winter loveless snow.
The moon is showing; the green grass blows.
The chilling northern breeze has replaced the warmth of the southern wind,
and the high-privileged Yankees win the war again.
Hope and despair make show of the other.
The house becomes serener in its intimate company,
and the outside environment becomes tender pain melody.
A person could quietly turn to frost in the open night
while another is set ablaze with love.
And we all want to be the latter one
and have a test of our luck with the southern belle.
When Christmas comes, we want to see her smile greet the Christmastime snow
and make the soft white twinkle like the morning sun makes it do.
The sky is dimming; the air is getting cold.
I see her star-sparkling.
Encountering her shimmering glossy eyes, I say, "Hello."
But I've got no chance with her.
This I've come to know.
So I freeze
in the welcoming winter loveless snow.
Published 3rd Nov 2014
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3rd Nov 2014 12:04pm
There seemed to be traces of metre and a rhyme scheme, but I found the content confusing, with sudden somewhat bizarre intrusions. The last stanza is the best, the welcoming winter loveless snow has a good rhythm.
I've developed a style that makes use of spontaneous metaphors. The poetry quickly jumps at the opportunity to connect its meaning with something else's. I've been moving towards bizarre for a long time. I've been aspiring to be a little less comprehensible, so that the weird things can be attracted to my poems and achieve their own aesthetic within my writings. To tell you the truth, I feel very awkward about the way the seasons feel to my skin and how the weather works in my heart. The chilling northern breeze replaces the warmth that I've come to know like the civil war, and suddenly I am forced to think of romance (the coming of yuletide does this to us so often) because romance brings warmth. Romance is a house. It is a shelter from the harsh elements of the world. Some don't make it, but want to, so they turn to frost. We all want to be in love and spend the cold times in life with the southern belle, a woman who is warm and comforting. I, on the other hand, can't come to attract her, so I am one of the people that turn to ice in the winter. The winter is always welcoming, willing to take someone into itself, so, in a way, it is comforting to flee romance when romance is hard to achieve.
3rd Nov 2014 6:46pm
I did wonder if the reference was to the civil war, northern breeze replacing the southern wind could have been a bit of a clue. Thank you for explaining it, though I still find the juxtaposition of unrelated images (unrelated, at least, to me) a difficulty. But, in the last resort, we all write the poem we want (need?) to write and there an end.
