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The plum pit in decantered wine
The soot on the mantle,
all along your heavy gothic lies,
you mixed thick and decantered, in
glass of Maias' lovely black eyes.
We made the arrangements,
and set them brotherly between the King
and a spaniel's smile. under curtain lace
and the last of Victoria's light she brings.
They paid the mill-wright lawfully, careful
to lay black feather of pig iron and lead.
A sunken blackbird, dead in cursing, wrought
and melting ore,
where flees the black angel from his bed.
all along your heavy gothic lies,
you mixed thick and decantered, in
glass of Maias' lovely black eyes.
We made the arrangements,
and set them brotherly between the King
and a spaniel's smile. under curtain lace
and the last of Victoria's light she brings.
They paid the mill-wright lawfully, careful
to lay black feather of pig iron and lead.
A sunken blackbird, dead in cursing, wrought
and melting ore,
where flees the black angel from his bed.
Published 13th Jan 2021
| Edited 15th Jan 2021
Author's Note
For Classic Corner Championship: Male Division
inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay's
Dirge Without Music
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52773/dirge-without-music
The poem is about my first experience of death at around 8-9 years old of my great uncle who died very old, and was militantly Victorian in all ways and design. Everything bore a great weight around him and my memories of discovering his body still remain dreamily vivid.
my pic and collage
inspired by Edna St. Vincent Millay's
Dirge Without Music
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52773/dirge-without-music
The poem is about my first experience of death at around 8-9 years old of my great uncle who died very old, and was militantly Victorian in all ways and design. Everything bore a great weight around him and my memories of discovering his body still remain dreamily vivid.
my pic and collage
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
13th Jan 2021 9:44pm
13th Jan 2021 9:58pm
Anonymous
14th Jan 2021 5:22pm
A very somber read, nomoth. I feel as if I am in a far away castle where a moment of silent prayer reigns supreme throughout stone corridors and courtyards. Good luck in the judging!
15th Jan 2021 00:56am
Thanks Johnny, just mad escapism, I think you caught that lol. Have edited and changed a bit.
18th Jan 2021 00:59am
So I read your poem first, for a clean impression, then went to the link and back here for a second time through. The imagery is dark and holds a kind of lament to me, describing these things left behind and the corrolation I think with the Millay poem is the inadequacy of what is left to be done when someone is lost to us. When my father died, it was part relief, as he was a terror in his alcoholism and drug abuse and violence, part a sense of loss in relationship to who I am, but not truly personal, as I didn't have much of a relationship with him and most years together were a dark smudge of memory, early years. When my best friend died in 2017 though, I knew loss. I gazed about in stupefaction that everything just goes on with obtuse clockwork precision, nothing skips a beat when someone beloved is lost. Sorry this is running long, it just touched into that for me I guess. As always your metaphor has an exquisite subtlety about it, nothing prosaic, just a sense of the essence of time and being imbued in the words for us to feel. It's always a pleasure my friend. I hope you're well.
Daniel
Daniel
24th Jan 2021 1:44pm
Thanks so much again Daniel, for sharing and for the thoughtful encouragement...always always appreciated
