Morendo On Sunday

as you read it..

a basin of white chipped enamel

tips the wash over the pale streets;

lights appear in the random order

of secret intent; confused stars

in an untidy sky light the northern stone,

hours slip behind a rook`s shadow,

a rain curtain falls : we sigh with routine;

we are waiting for a small, clean death;

trapped between the sun and the moon.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Strong use of words and thoughts my friend. The poem statement made me wish to know and read more. The ending was my favorites. Is there such a thing as a clean death? Thank you Leslie for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[OneAmongstMany]

'Lights appear in random order'

So often we find it difficult to make sense of things that happen in our lives, of suffering we endure, even of good feelings of love and joy. We often feel out of sync with the way we feel things 'are supposed to be' Perhaps the reality is there is no predestined order to our lives, or at least not one that we will ever be able to comprehend.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this and thinking about its meaning. Thank you for sharing!

[wordman]

a sigh of being held back ,a type of loneliness

[John Alexander McFadyen]

A feeling of such melancholy is left as the final stanza seems to indicate the wasted days and nights of someone who has lost enthusiasm for life. The opening stanza sets such a tone in its portrayal of an old basin, a place where time has stood still in the past. As always I am in awe Leslie.