Windfallen

Windfallen

 

My word

That view was something,

Wasn’t it

Something else entirely

Where other

Might one Ponder and for

So very long and free

 

Gazing on

These orchard fields

Where row pon row of

England’s

Most finest

Both do grow and yield

Each fresh harvest

 

Tis here

I might just lay

At least until the morrow

With scent of fallen

Bruised and weeping fruit

All about n laid

Mid bramble and bracken

 

Windfallen,

Both russet and gold

My word, tis such a heady pillow

Now sorely needed

On which to drown

One’s immeasurable sorrow …

 

Reviews

[Ted Kniffen]

I don't know Neville ... I pick up the autumn scene. The ripened apples bruised and fallen leaving that sharp scent floating on the air.
And then I pick up the solemn sense of England's fallen laying beneath long rows of white crosses and fields of poppies growing amidst the windfalls.
Maybe it's that time of year ... maybe it's this wretched plague but your lovely poem pulled me in both directions.

Well done Sir!!
Thank you ... be well!

[Neville]

................it feels to me like you got it my friend.. if I'm off mark, maybe you will let me know .. and I'll thank you .. absolutely no end :)

[barleygirl]

There's something magical about an orchard & you've brought that magic alive here for all the senses! I love how you show the beauty of moldering being right beside freshness, a great metaphor for unity despite being opposed! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Neville]

...... I am so glad you felt able to meander with me Margie .. and your comment here did warm me to the core............... (HUGS) fondly back at ya ... Neville

[barleygirl]

To the apple core? *wink! wink!*

[Neville]

....... you got it......... but then I knew ya would x

[Chris Shaw]

I thought of all the orchards we used to have in this country. Not so many now since the common agricultural. policy was introduced. Your part of the world renowned for its apples and cider. Who wouldn't appreciate the beauty of all those trees. Unpicked fruit, allowed to fall, bruise and rot. That sadly happens, but just think of all the apples harvested and the making merry from the cider. That is worth celebrating for sure while pondering on the sorrows too. Lovely imagery here Neville. You live in a beautiful county. Strong metaphor as well, for quite a few situations that life can bring, especially the soldiers left dead, far away from home in the last war, on those bloodied fields of carnage.

Chris

[Neville]

........................... Thanks Chris n truly :)
Neville

[Crowley]

This reminded me of Cider House Rules...its not England but has a similar feel to the way they describe harvest in Maine and all the textures and emotions that go along with it.. You always have such a fabulous depth in your writing that can often be tossed if you don’t take your time to really read it. It’s one of the things that endears me to you and your wonderful sense of the universe.

[Neville]

........ I presently live in the cider capital of the UK but am soon to be on the move having both just sold and bought a new property .. an incredibly exciting but also stressful time, hence my little nostalgic scribble .. many sincere thanks for such an encouraging review my friend ... tis truly appreciated .. Stay both safe n well now ya hear :)

[Patricia Wedel]

I also feel Windfallen in the Autumn of my years... with diamond tears and pearls upon a Breast of setting suns and half Moons... and yet
When the Sun rises again... I smile. gently, Pat

[Neville]

You are not alone Pat .. and never shall be .. smile on :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

windfallen, crestfallen...
the dead fruits of life, scattered upon an unrelenting ground
The sorrow is whispered by the trees, as I lie
here and absorb it all.
well, your poem sent me there.
j.

[Neville]

....................... got me smiling here jacob n true :)

[Just Kim]

i found this write, emotional and well expressed. so nicely written

[Neville]

.................... thank you kindly Just Kim