Thursday, October 13, 2011
Rated "G" by the Author.
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For "Uncle," who first pointed out birch trees to me on a well-wall-papered wall.
In real life, those trees who framed the fields were really poplar, I know... All the same, here's to you, Uncle:
It came in autumn this year,
and the birch trees—
the birch trees—
they fell like rain
and wreathed an effigy of love
around the black-flecked, ghostly trunks.
They bared their bare breasts to the sun,
fought hard to breathe the weeping air,
stretched out their pale, sap-hollowed limbs
and cried out “UNCLE!” in despair
And now their mutilated boughs,
once banking fields of grain and hay,
Lie nailed in subdivided homes
we children –
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|Reviewed by Cryssa C
|Did you mean boughs instead of bows?
The disparity between the sorrow and joys that August week brought... A time to remember, a loss, a gain...
What memories I have of Uncle... Hard to believe he's gone...
Love the imagery of the trees throughout your poem. I still miss those poplar trees...
|Reviewed by Gene Williamson
|Charlie, these wonderfully written lines speak for me as well.
|Reviewed by Kate Burnside
|I muchly agree with Axilea about the power of the repetitions in this elegiac piece, Charlie - like "dust to dust, ashes to ashes", so haunting and hallowed with the soft intimacy and tender reaffirmation of a special memory and bond. Truly, you have captured just how precous this place, these trees, that treasured Uncle is and was and ever will be. Beautiful! xx|
|Reviewed by Christine Tsen
|An amazing poem, rich in insight, great spiritual wisdom, and the suffering is real, the whole poem is so enlighteningly real ~
|Reviewed by Axilea MU
|The sadness of "lie nailed in subdivided homes"! (and, of course, of "mutilated bows")... The last stanza says so much about tragedy and deterioration. The whole poem is just beautiful, Charlie, reminding the reader of your other beautiful poem that is no longer on this site, with the effective imagery and repetition in the first stanza. I like the image of those bare breasts bared to the sun: the repetition of "bare" makes them so vulnerable and almost human. There is a feeling of loss and sadness here and the presence of a compassionate soul.
|Reviewed by Albert Megraw
|Delightful writt5en, your words bring to life the pictures in my mind, the smells of late summer and early fall, the scuffle of leaves as small feet push there way through deep coloured leaves. Thanks for sharing this.|
|Reviewed by Felix Perry
|Very enjoyable and unigue autumn write, I like this.
|Reviewed by Elisabeth Barstowe
|I do love fall and I think part of it is that spooky kind of feeling that comes with the trees loosing their leaves. But there's a different part as well, fragrant, colorful and soft and muddled. I remember runnig through thick carpets of soft leaves as a child, some of the best times of my life. Your poem brought all that back to me. Wonderfully written.|