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A Suicide Beneath the Capitulating Fall
by Brian RobertsIf yet our only share is Autumn shed
Felled flecks of rusted Spring haunt too the Sage;
What vernal vestige to reverb'rate nigh?
For us, a frameless pane of leper sky-
No fissure draining forth the azure pool,
Nor sunrise treading heav'n in cleft clouds cloaked;
But drowned twig carousels stir marinade
of flood-licked land,the pallid plume of fowl
Whereat the wan oak swoons its naked veins
A final shrug of lungs mists staid soiled scenes
Supine I watch my banished spirit twirl
until the strained embosomed gavel springs,
To toll quietus- nevermore to ring.
02/07/2012 Posted on 02/07/2012
Copyright © 2025 Brian Roberts
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/13/12 at 03:37 PM There's a wonderful history of poetry found in the language of this, and the image it presents is just as captivating as the voices and works that clearly inspired this. Very nice. |
| Posted by Joe Cramer on 02/18/12 at 02:35 PM ... excellent imagery, a wonderful write.... |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 06/03/15 at 07:49 PM Congrats on POTD for this sonnet - really a treasure of rich imagines. "But drowned twig carousels stir marinade
of flood-licked land," - something about these lines and that word, marinade, that makes me sit up and want to read again and soak it all in. Nicely done. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 06/03/15 at 07:50 PM Well, my "images" word went wild in my first comment, so here it is in proper form. |
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