deepundergroundpoetry.com
how now my rose
for my precious wife, with all my love
(i)
how now my rose,
it fadeth,
choked by the dark
that shadeth
the splendour of its former lure
from which my heart could scarce find cure!
look up and bloom for me once more;
thy fragrance ever I adore.
thy sun yet hides,
now covert;
my songs are hushed
in concert.
(ii)
the kiss of sweet,
fresh morning,
when our new love
was borning,
yet liveth 'neath the sordid soil
trap whence our trembling souls recoil;
though doubt and fear our hopes would foil,
death comes not for a little while:
some means lies still
before us
to resurrect
the chorus
(iii)
we sang when life
was blooming
and evenings knew
no glooming.
arrest thy thorns and save my flesh,
and i will cultivate afresh
my bosom for thy welcome crèche.
thy heart and mine will each one bless,
for naught this day
shall sever
souls pledged to cleave
forever.
© Copyright 2020 October 01
by Clyve a. Bowen♫
(i)
how now my rose,
it fadeth,
choked by the dark
that shadeth
the splendour of its former lure
from which my heart could scarce find cure!
look up and bloom for me once more;
thy fragrance ever I adore.
thy sun yet hides,
now covert;
my songs are hushed
in concert.
(ii)
the kiss of sweet,
fresh morning,
when our new love
was borning,
yet liveth 'neath the sordid soil
trap whence our trembling souls recoil;
though doubt and fear our hopes would foil,
death comes not for a little while:
some means lies still
before us
to resurrect
the chorus
(iii)
we sang when life
was blooming
and evenings knew
no glooming.
arrest thy thorns and save my flesh,
and i will cultivate afresh
my bosom for thy welcome crèche.
thy heart and mine will each one bless,
for naught this day
shall sever
souls pledged to cleave
forever.
© Copyright 2020 October 01
by Clyve a. Bowen♫
Published 1st Oct 2020
Author's Note
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
I appreciate your ability to write. I don't care for the outdated language style, but that's just my preference for new content after 100 years. You keep on theme, mood, voice, and on rhythm (I assume the syncopations are intentional), and your use of devices is above par. Thanks for sharing something worthwhile. "Borning" was a bit corning.
Thank you, A.R., for a rather "decent" review, interestingly analytic, if ere my poesy might not be too pyrrhic!
Syncopations, I guarantee, are intentional where I employ them; the opening and closing four lines of every stanza are full of them.
As far as language is concerned, I feel no restriction, for my predilection leads me to write Jamaican non-bourgeois patois, Queen's (British) English, Biblical liturgical, and even ephemeral, lingual lexicon. My corning "borning" (like my looming "glooming") is born of the thorns of poetic license -- the same liberty that aids and abets my use of the languages of the ages.
In the same way, as an artist, I would not limit my palette to any one set of colours, but would feel free to explore the entire spectrum with a modicum of liberty.
Your poetic prowess and experience shine through your searching observations. Thanks again!
Sincerely
cab
Syncopations, I guarantee, are intentional where I employ them; the opening and closing four lines of every stanza are full of them.
As far as language is concerned, I feel no restriction, for my predilection leads me to write Jamaican non-bourgeois patois, Queen's (British) English, Biblical liturgical, and even ephemeral, lingual lexicon. My corning "borning" (like my looming "glooming") is born of the thorns of poetic license -- the same liberty that aids and abets my use of the languages of the ages.
In the same way, as an artist, I would not limit my palette to any one set of colours, but would feel free to explore the entire spectrum with a modicum of liberty.
Your poetic prowess and experience shine through your searching observations. Thanks again!
Sincerely
cab
