deepundergroundpoetry.com
Nasturtiums in light snow
Cold bites to my bones, stings my skin, joking
that summer was ever warm.
Beneath an iron sky, stragglers, jovial party people
linger by the cold windy door.
The warmth of their orange and red rages,
but diminished, by a light snowfall blanket.
It weighs them down,
their hot summery heads drooping under early winter’s white weight.
No cabbage white or tortoiseshell will visit these roguish
summer remnants;
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems to destruction.
that summer was ever warm.
Beneath an iron sky, stragglers, jovial party people
linger by the cold windy door.
The warmth of their orange and red rages,
but diminished, by a light snowfall blanket.
It weighs them down,
their hot summery heads drooping under early winter’s white weight.
No cabbage white or tortoiseshell will visit these roguish
summer remnants;
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems to destruction.
Published 14th Dec 2024
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14th Dec 2024 1:58am
This is searing imagery—beauty in the brutal.
Do you really need "to destruction"?
Do you really need "to destruction"?
Thank you as always for reading and commenting, and for RL honour :)
Destruction…Hmmm, well now that you mention it, perhaps not.
I wrote an additional stanza after posting:
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems to destruction, like —
little blast furnaces under impending
closure
Or, following your suggestion
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems, like
little blast furnaces under impending
closure.
Destruction…Hmmm, well now that you mention it, perhaps not.
I wrote an additional stanza after posting:
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems to destruction, like —
little blast furnaces under impending
closure
Or, following your suggestion
the first frost will finish them soon enough—
smiting their tender leaves and stems, like
little blast furnaces under impending
closure.
30th Dec 2024 4:42pm
I don't like the word 'destruction' because it's implied with 'smiting' their tender leaves and stems.
the first frost will finish them soon enough
smiting their tender leaves and stems. . .
little blast furnaces under impending
closure.
I chose the ellipses to leave the ending open. It makes me cringe to think of what's happening to them from the frost. I don't like the last two lines because, again, it's implied. Just how hard it's implied is dependent upon each person's imagination.
But it's your poem and you have to follow your heart.
the first frost will finish them soon enough
smiting their tender leaves and stems. . .
little blast furnaces under impending
closure.
I chose the ellipses to leave the ending open. It makes me cringe to think of what's happening to them from the frost. I don't like the last two lines because, again, it's implied. Just how hard it's implied is dependent upon each person's imagination.
But it's your poem and you have to follow your heart.
