John Tansey

Rookie - 48 Points (June 4th,1961...Gemini / Bronx, New York)



Something epic, looms
over the dismal gray cold
of Autumn's
overwhelming utter sadness
in the vanquished heart;
that slows summer's combustible pace
to a stillness,
mirrored in the pensive faces
of those
awed at all the Autumn dead
that lay leaved at their feet.

Something pale, plumes
above an Autumnal brush fire
by this mid November's rain;
vaporous gray clouds
pall bear this vestige
of the barren heart's
sloughed colors;
cobalt greens and cadmium yellows,
to its bone white pallor of ash.

Something tragic, dooms
the foliage in the winter wood,
as our extremities, withdrawn
to the aftermath
of the parboiled earthen heart's
bare bronchial trees;
some sulfuric sediment, embering
in the sallow air
to the smoke of an old war
we wage until our heroic defeat.

Something grand, illumined
in the long shadowed distance
of a purple sky's
dark shrouded clouds;
some monumental quest
overwhelming in loneliness,
the naked heart's
stark terror of the id,
this whole dark epic of man
plodding out of the awesome gray mist.

Something lingering, resumes
with a longing, like for those we grieve
planted deep
in the earth
of the mourning heart,
some embered remembrance
of them,
like leaves in their green age
as fond prayers of fair days
on such sparse ones like these.

Something ominous, glooms
as the proud incongruous
crescent of the black crow,
perched upon a limb
in the sparse vermillion wood:
puce colored corpuscles of leaves
parallel grief
in the conquered heart's
coagulated wound
that eclipses
this metaphor of Autumn with a private loss.

Something final, consumes
this naked sensuality of Autumn
with all things that end
in sorrow,
breaking the spirit
of the giving heart's
commiserated sage
numbed by loss, to pray alone
beneath the white washed stars,
not knowing if God
is among that brutal cold.

Something bittersweet, blooms
in the slender sapling, tossed
to Autumn's embered war
of attrition,
some surviving magi
in the sojourned heart's
tender flesh wound
of compassion
learns, through the barren casualty
of life, lost
to the slow death of the year.

January 4, '92 John Thomas Tansey

Copyright ©2007 John Thomas Tansey

Submitted: Saturday, December 13, 2008

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (PARALLELS OF MORTALITY IN AUTUMN... by John Tansey )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. रंजानाय फैगौ, Ronjoy Brahma
  2. Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
  3. Alone And Drinking Under The Moon, Li Po
  4. Alone, Edgar Allan Poe
  5. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  6. Christmas Trees, Robert Frost
  7. O Captain! My Captain!, Walt Whitman
  8. If, Rudyard Kipling
  9. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  10. Dreams, Langston Hughes

Poem of the Day

poet Li Po

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
...... Read complete »


Member Poem

poet Marvin Brato Sr

[Hata Bildir]