An Offering

She summons the wind and the rain,

plucking clouds and petals of gray.

She is tired but does not complain.

The needle threads another day.

A shadow ripples in her eyes,

a gentle tug, a hidden lake.

A sad wind moans and gently cries

in the ghost of memory’s wake.

 

He touched her soul; she touched his heart.

She wanders the distance between.

No kiss of love nor thought impart

the brief glimpses of evergreen.

Fragments fall to overflowing.

He is the same, both now and then,

secrets kept, a gentle knowing,

the ever after never been.

 

She weeps into her pillowcase.

A prayer rises as a bird,

and language finds a special place

in an offering made of word.

A poem made of scarlet ink,

a redwing keeping its vigil,

a precious gift, an interlink,

a tribute, and sacred sigil.

 

Night by light of the willow moon

spills through hands of a silent saint

within a churchyard’s dark commune

beneath branches of low acquaint.

Nothing remains among the dead.

The earth is split; the sky is torn.

The heart becomes a watershed,

and a rose bleeds beside the thorn.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Bhuyanshi Talukdar]

The poem is a tribute to the power of language and the importance of memory, with the woman weeping into her pillowcase and offering a poem made of scarlet ink as a tribute to the man she loves. The heart becomes a watershed," add a sense of emotional depth to the poem, and they reinforce the idea that memory can be a powerful force that shapes our lives. Overall, it's well- crafted👍

[W. Barrett Munn]

This is delightfully rhythmic and like Lorry said it flows, which Ezra Pound touted as of more import than meter,

It also reminds me of something T.S. Eliot wrote, that he doesn’t always know what his poetry means.

Sometimes it is enough just to be a poem.

Winston

[Lorry]

This flows beautifully Linda Marie, as well as teaching me my new word for the day, sigil.
Hadn't come across it before, but now I'm thinking "why not?"
I think I heard Alexa tutting at me when I asked her what it meant. Don't worry though, I have a few new words for her too! 😊

[Akinlolu]

Wow. I forget about the sorrow that spills through your piece. The language is a majestic architecture of expression that soars into breathless heights.
Akinlolu.

[willweb]

Sorrow it seems continues its flow from your pen my friend. Love and life are not always as fair as we would like and there is always a bit of loss involved. To put it in the past is at times a very hard proposition. Your words are felt and like always, are very beautiful. You are an amazing poet,

[John the Baptist]

The overall theme of this one is loss. Not just separation, but final, total loss. It appears the subject lost the only one that mattered long ago, and now she keeps a vigil in the churchyard where he lies. The sadness here is almost palpable. This is ongoing grief, as personified in the last line.

[Ken Simm.]

This to me is like lovely liquid or beautifully soft fabric. An incredible piece of writing nontheless.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I agree with Chris...you just master our language and are wonderful representation of our genre...
She has lost him...she wants nature to join her in her sadness...or she just wants to drown
in the sorrow she feels...love is so close to being that rose...so close...and then the thorns
interfere...and cut to the quick.
j

[Patricia Wedel]

“A Rose bleeds beside a Thorn”… we are Heaven borne… in a Church yard of Mourning Saints… … a poem of destiny where Angels slept… Amen… Pat

[Chris Shaw]

Such a descriptive pen you have Linda. Your command of poetry quite superb in yet another poem which flows in sadness. Your posted image matches beautifully, your words.

Chris