The love song of grief (ver.5)

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

In the echo of a chill and distant breeze,
I hear your shadow—it dances, like a furtive glance
in the rustling trees, veiled in the vagueness of memory.

In my vacant hands,
I seek to hold your hair—
which is as dark as wells,
your eyes—brown
as fallen, russet leaves,

seek to stride the gilded plain of skin and bone,
seek to overthrow the path of thigh and hip,
stand on the throne of all that sweats and moans
and shout the cry of conquerors,

lift my hands, palms high to the sky
and ask its deep blueness to imbue,
like sun to blades of grass and soil to bloom,

to sing once more, a troubadour who scribbles—
of the love of ages on a slate blue wall—
the ceaseless joy of our alchemy.

Still here I stand erect,
the wounded warrior
who longs for the peace of days,
laments the valley of the swollen dead,
smells the vanquished on the dry wind,
prays to the dirt for the resurrection of its musing graves.

[MichaelFirewalker]

I can enter each strong verse of this poem, and live inside it, but it doesn't seem to have a beginning, middle, and end----there is no single point made, except that of loss and grief----so, I've decided this poem is like life, which, until it isn't any more, just keeps on going, verse to verse to verse, and frequently does so without apparent structure or direction...

michael

[mfwilkie]

Some thoughts on tightening your opening, leo.

In the undertone of a cold and distant breeze,
I hear your shadow—it dances like a furtive glance
in through the rustling trees, veiled
behind in with the vagueness vagaries of memory.


And here in this stanza, why not start this with
the hands, wanting/missing thus avoiding the use of 'I' if you can, until the next stanza.

I seek to hold your hair—
hair as dark as a well,
your eyes—
eyes as brown as musty leaves,
in my vacant hands once more,

Don't be pissed, but from here down, the V sounds like it's on a soap box. Seek might not be the right word for the intensity of emotion the V is indicating.

Still here I stand here (where) a warrior longing for the peace of (?) days,

Mags

[alfredo]

Great potential ...believe it might benefit from "I seek to hold your hair" repeated at beginning of each Stanza

[purplejacket]

Haven't even read it yet, but wanted to congratulate you for the title, Leo!!!

(Brings J. Alfred to mind, but only in passing.)

brb

[Sherry Thrasher]

Yes, great title but hair brown like musty leaves? This is a great couple of lines:

to sing once more, a troubadour who scribbles
of the love of ages on a pudding stone wall—

Careful lest you reawaken a romantic muse.

Sherry

[David Nelson Bradsher]

Hi Leo-

I'm glad you changed the cliche of eyes as brown as mud, but I'm not sure you've accomplished the intended result with brown as musty leaves. Maybe "winter leaves"?

[Tina (Firefly)]

Okay, mi Leo.. this is another of your strong, powerhouse poems speaking of the strength of love -- requited and unrequited. I really like the way you build this one to a visually ugly and angry conclusion. I also like the changes you've made, as they add the required softness and sad beauty to the opening ("I hear your shadow, it dances like a furtive glance in the rustling trees"..now that, my darling friend, is poetry.

Here's a few (simply) suggestions:

"...as fallen, faded leaves,

seek to stride the gilded plain of skin and bone,
to overthrow the path of thigh and hip, (singular)
to stand on the throne of all that sweats and bleeds
and shout the cry of conquerors.

You need to be heard, as you have two voices in most of your work.. the passionate poetic voice and your deep resonant actual voice. Each is strong, earthy, vibrant with angst, pain, and intent with importantance.. Together, though.. well, together they culminate in the sound of native drums resonating the sound of the earth's heart under the rivers of the earth. That was the most dramatic metaphor I could think of at the moment. But it still, does not suffice. Tina

[LynnDoiron]

it dances, like a furtive glance
in the rustling trees

it rustles, like a furtive glance
in the dancing trees

Leo, as usual, your gift for gorgeous and monumental emotions is here in this work. I very much like the reshaping of the senses, the idea of sound given to a shadow -- those sorts of quirky images are things that I like a lot. My tweaking in the above stanza to swap out rustle and dance are just furthering that sort of quirkiness. Forgive me?

Thanks for the good write.

lynn

[mfwilkie]

Terrific revision, Leo. It's smooth.

Mags