What do I expect
as death approaches the air’s edge,
colors once borne by maple and oak
now displayed garishly on store manikins,
tight muscles and thoughts
that curl back on themselves;
Hunger for inspiration, the drawing in
of breath begging to be twice inhaled,
cupped hands, skin hardened
like tanned leather over bony knot
of muscles, woolen softness
over all;
What’s real,
what artifice.
Oohh, pretty yet serious thoughts about the death of summer. I like the softness spread over taut older skin. I wore gloves on Sunday at grandson’s football game. 🙂 I do feel chills more deeper into my bones, Bela. Hugs, Robin
Thanks, Robin! I wrote this while we lived in Maine over 10 years ago, and remember that end of fall’s slide into winter like it was yesterday. Actually I do miss the fall – always my favorite season! But yes, feeling the chills more acutely, for sure <3 Thanks for taking time to comment!
Bela, the line, “what’s real, what’s artifice?” is really a great thought left open ended. 🙂
Yes, I think for some, that line is pretty thin. Blessings, Robin.
Very valid point about the line being “pretty thin,” Carol.
This is brilliant! But, OH that coming winter….
Aloha: Thanks for checking me out, and for your kind words. 🙂
And yes, though we are far from those kinds of winters anymore, I spent most of my life in that cycle of defined seasons. One does not forget so easily … Be well.
Beautifully poignant and with an interpretive complexity it seems Bela. For me, it conjured images of the endless visits to see my father in an old person’s care home, one specialising in dementia care. I enjoyed most of the visits in fact, and rather felt at ease amongst the old folk who had ceased to ask “what’s real, what artifice?” I was sitting having tea with my father and an elderly resident named Jill, who was stroking a large, furry toy dog which was cradled in her arms. I said to Jill that I thought it was a lovely looking dog, and looking down at him, she replied “Yes, he used to be real you know. Well, he still is.” So funny, yet poignant too. H <3
Hariod, that’s a fabulous memory. And yes, ‘reality’ is in the eye – or collective eyes – of the observer/s. When I wrote this over a decade ago, what struck me was the foliage – here and gone – and then seeing those same colors (or amateur imitations of them) on manikins in store windows. The paradox struck me just so, and I had to write it down 😉 Blessings as we head into the end of yet another week! <3
Thanks Bela; though are you alluding to human aging/mortality and perhaps even loss of cognition at all in this piece? It sounds as if you are not after all, and that was no more than an overlay of my own mind.
One thing I love about writing poetry is that people are welcome to take from it what they will. At the time I wrote this, I was maybe fifty; not yet contemplating mortality quite so much 😉
These days, I am enrolled in Interior Design school, a longtime love. So I have less time for creative writing. Plus it’s been so bloody hot for months on end. As a result, I’ve been digging through the archives as Tuesdays roll around.
For the first time in a few weeks last night, I had a poem in my head, but was too tired to write it down. Yet with cooler weather and holidays on the horizon, I’m sure I’ll have lots to say in a more contemporary vein.
Many blessings for a restful and lovely weekend, Hariod! <3
Forever changes.