Fallen leaves make dapples

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Fallen leaves make dapples

in the moonlight on the terrace,

and the silence falls as heavy

as a leaden Sunday downpour,

for in the nimble silver

of the moonlight in the garden,

there is sadness where the rose bloomed

and now only hookéd thorns shine,

and the dapples swarm like gravespots,

and the silence cracks in cloudbursts

of lead pearls, cold tears, quicksilvered.

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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 “Fallen leaves make dapples”

  1. Some day you will have to try, and I do mean try, to make the distinction between your poetry and that of an “established,” poet. A term you once used. Superb writing here!

    1. Thank you so much, Michael! I don’t know the answer to the question. Maybe it’s something along the same lines as the difference between a sect and a religion—a religion has more members 🙂

      1. Well, I fall into the category that thinks it’s exclusivity and elitist, whatever cult that is. An MFA never gave anyone the gift of poetic expression any more than the Wizard of Oz gave the Tin Man a heart.

      2. The Tin Man already had one, and the WofO was a fraud, so I guess that means if you have it you have it and no one can give you what’s already there. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I write what comes, and if it says something to others as well, so much the better 🙂

      3. I feel the same way, Jane, but sometimes I get that line from Somewhere Over the Rainbow feeling, “Why then oh why can’t I?”
        ☺ Happy Sunday

  2. Maybe one day I will get tired of saying you’re wonderful though I doubt it. And to think … you get the wonderfuls a lot and I often ignore others because there’s something about your writing you just are THAT good you so deserve it.
    These lines Jane. You could put them in ANY book of classic poetry and they would not be out of place.
    there is sadness where the rose bloomed

    and now only hookéd thorns shine,

    and the dapples swarm like gravespots,

    and the silence cracks in cloudbursts

    of lead pearls, cold tears, quicksilvered.

    1. I’m so glad you like this one! I really enjoy writing these poems with a rhythm to them. No rhyme but with a drum beat. The words seem to fall into place all by themselves. Military precision 🙂

      1. and I forgot to say but the picture went really well with this also – and the rhythm really worked – I aim to try to do this although I’m not sure it’s much harder than you make it look you nimble girl you

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