by Claire G Shaw
Saturday, December 28, 2002
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Youth lies dying, alone on a thin bed of snow,
limbs flung out, a hand reaching, eyes wide, a dagger in the heart,
she, with a star struck expression that gazes up into the heavens.
A lone snowflake melts slowly on untarnished skin,
The red blood so bright against the white snow merges and spreads into a vivid curling pattern,
Youth the centre in a flower of red.
Is this death? Do the scenes change? Faces flicker? Is it the world that is spinning or is it only me?
Thousands of poppies in a summer field,
bold weeping red, bold and valient,
red as blood they gently wave,
a reminder of a memory.
A single poppy lies discarded on a concrete path,
cut and picked for its beauty,
young petals soft as velvet still glisten with morning dew...
Where is death? The scenes have changed, the faces are flickering.
Am I standing still or am I the one spinning?
A red sunset on the horizon,
the sky is flooded with a deep molten red,
retreating with the coming of deep night dark,
'Red Sky Tonight, Shepherds Delight,'
Is the bloodied sky an omen? A forbringer of sunnier days?
Will we have a golden day to look to after the long night?
What if death is merely rebirth? Perhaps nothing changes except the faces?
The world is spinning, the colours blur and fade, there is only me.
Tinckling child laughter rings out and sparkles fleetingly in the hazey summer air,
Cherry juice stains my hands, sweet and colourful,
Red stains your lips, a blushing red fingerprint smudged on your cheek, the colour of red wine.
I remember your eyes how they shone as they looked into mine, how young your face,
how small the hand that grabbed mine and pulled me willingly down the woodland path.
Two schemers, dreamers, tricksters alike...
Is this a memory or just a dream?
Is red only a colour?
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|Reviewed by Lori Moore
|Excellent write. Love the opening line.|
|Reviewed by na na (Reader)
|Claire....after reading Kristian's comment...I cannot say more except to agree with her. What a fine poem and what an incisive coment. Bill Murray|
|Reviewed by Kristian Mahrling-Harding
you have painted with wonderful imagery. as we progress through this life, we see the fading of our youth, and the emergence of memory, in dream, in fantasy...so what is reality? it is the magick of the colours of our life (lives). to weave the tapestry of wholeness, which is our essence. RED..is the colour of richness, and of life itself.