Summer With No Words Poem by Sandra Fowler
Summer With No Words
We should have put you in your hunting coat
Beneath its abstract whorls of pheasant blood.
I think that might have kept you less remote
From cattails and the smell of river mud.
I held you last beneath a locust tree
Where limbs writhed in a passion of leaf fall
Your moon-burned body fitted close to me,
But grief is not original at all.
Though you shall come to summer with no words,
And my arms hold the empptiness of air,
The slate-gray sky will keep its flow of birds;
Sun unto moon forgetting we were there.
Picked at random! Superb compulsive flow and detail which gives this a real feeling... Quality again, Patrick
Perfect iambic pentameter, Sandra. Nary an accented nor unaccented syllable out of place. The double implication of 'Where limbs writhed in a passion of leaf fall' burns with cool fervour. 'Your moon-burned body fitted close to me' is a rather keen bobby dazzler, isn't it? The final quatrain is sensational. Cheers, Greg
Sandra, there is no forgetting your earthly blend of poetry. A truly remarkable piece... stunning by every measure! Also, hope you have a wonderful and happy birthday and wishing you enjoy sixty more! ! Brian :)
ooh, I like the end bit 'sun unto moon forgetting we were there' - its pretty awesome
A truly marvellous write with great content. Thanks for sharing. Take care. John
'Your moon-burned body fitted close to me, But grief is not original at all...' Dear Sandra, a perfect flow as always in your poems. A touch of nostalgia, a gentle bit of light and stellar imagery that took me under that slate-gray sky you describe..Thanks for sharing. Always your friend with best wishes. Y.M.
but grief is not original at all- Sandra you alone can put in a few words the entire philosophy of great sages of yore. I read and reread, there is a touch of melancholy, brooding over past, nostalgia, letting go- all brought out with stunning imagery. you are so articulate and master of your craft. thanks Warm Regards Mamta
The seamless blending of the natural world and a poignantly remembered past makes this poem one to be read more than once. I have to agree with Greg about your use of iambic pentameter, which seems as natural to you as breathing. Beautiful verse. love, Allie xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:20:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
ok I should stop your poetry for today! this is the first time I read your poems and I'm highly impressed, what a poet! HBH