Wednesday 9 November 2011

October

Tousle-haired harbinger
Teasing the last remnants
From an Indian Summer.
Next years buds
Vestiges of growth
Belie the destitution
That November will bring.
Beyond, under frigid skies,
The wrecking months.
Skirling winds
Bitter, twisted tendrils
Seep through gaps
Chilling bones, until,
Desolate and alone,
They whither and snap
Like dry grass
Blast-stripped, brown
With cold and decay.

Amidst the carnage,
She walks.
Barefoot.


6 comments:

  1. Nice, how even after all of that she walks on, not letting it phase her.

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  2. nice...barefoot is the best way to be...even among the desolation...great imagery in this...

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  3. oh i just love that she's walking barefoot... so much in these last lines which sum up perfectly what you said before..

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  4. I can feel the cold with this...the imagery leaves a strong impression...the wrecking months, skirling winds...nice work

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  5. Thank you all for the comments. Makes it worthwhile. Just so you know, 'she' is the Goddess, a nature metaphor.

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  6. Beautiful scene you paint, even though stark.

    http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/01/10/the-sun-came-up-again-4/

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