Counting, or not

The Daily Post prompt is: mistake.

1024px-Pleuer_-_Ausfahrender_Zug_-_1902

I counted days until we’d meet,

In summer heat.

Agreement cool:

Was I a fool?

 

I count the minutes on the train:

Not be in vain,

My silent plea,

Be there for me.

 

I count the faces at the gate,

The train is late,

But you’re not there;

You didn’t care.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

14 thoughts on “Counting, or not”

  1. I have to say again, perfect picture with the poem. You nailed it.
    This reminds me of a favorite poem I read from Tennyson I forget the name though but the meter is so similar in its accomplishment, I read this aloud and it had a wonderful symmetry especially;
    I count the faces at the gate,

    The train is late,

    But you’re not there;

    You didn’t care.

    I recall in the Tennyson poem it was something like – the rusted nails fell from the knot that held the pear to the gable wall – and then ‘he cometh not’ and it just had that same rhythm that is SO hard for writers to get but you really, really succeeded.

    1. Thank you! I try to get the rhythm right. It’s the beats to the line that matter, more so than the number of syllables. Syllable-counting can be a bit of a red herring, lulling us into thinking we’ve got it right, when you only have to hear the poem read aloud to hear that the words ought to be fitted in differently.

      1. I know what you mean. The rhythm when said aloud reads quite differently to the written form. You are very artful at being able to concoct combinations that not only work with the form and meter, but are truly beautiful

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