The dverse prompt this evening is to write about the art of poetry. I think this poem is a draught, to be worked at and refined. I don’t often do that, but maybe the subject warrants it.
There are some words that never can be said,
And some songs that never should be sung,
While the sun is sinking in the sky.
There are some places we should never go,
Some dark and silent corners of the past
That should lie untouched beneath their withered shrouds.
The words that hurt or open half-healed wounds,
The songs brought in poor baggage wrapped in sighs,
The tears that glisten in an old one’s eye,
This beauty, terrible and fierce, that I
Would paint with cries of cub and kit,
In falcon feathers across the wintry sky,
Is all, of life of love,
And the quiet of solace of death.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
Amazingly written👌
Thank you! I’m glad you like the poem 🙂
The deep and silent echo of those words and thoughts which should never be uttered flows through this piece and perhaps serves as a reminder that whilst we may not speak of them we draw from them. Wonderful writing.
Thank you, Paul. I feel this poem isn’t finished. I’ll go back to it later. If I’m spared, as husband says in quavery fake old lady voice.
I think this kind of poem may never be finished. Might make an interesting series.
Vignettes of people, glimpses of places and times. Maybe. It would be a life’s work.
I agree. A reckoning of the unfolding journey. No destination required.
Well, we know the destination, even if some pretend they know better. Before I get there, it would be nice to have had an interesting journey though.
I’m sure that has already happened Jane.
Or is happening.
Hopefully 😉
🙂
A lovely poem, Jane, with a diamond of a line set in its centre:
‘The songs brought in poor baggage wrapped in sighs’.
Thank you, Kim. It’s a thought that haunts me.
I thought this brave comment- Some dark and silent corners of the past
That should lie untouched beneath their withered shrouds.
Thanks Alison. Not everything is ours to poke about in, I suppose.
This is a beautiful poem, Jane. I don’t think I can add anything to the comment above. 🙂
Thank you 🙂 I’ll maybe add to it one day.
That would fit the prompt. 🙂
I suppose it would 😉
🙂
Nice sound. I like the reminder of there being places we should not go.
Thanks Frank. Too many sad memories.
If I were to give your poem a title, I would call it “Poetic Wisdom”. Choosing what and what not to say is the ongoing joy we have each day!
Dwight
Joy and burden, Dwight. Sometimes I wonder.
Your opening lines remind me there is always a part of me that I can’t share or post to the world ~ This is beautifully fierce, honest and brave ~ An amazing perpective of writing about our darkness, love of life and death ~
Thank you, Grace. If the urge to write is visceral, the act of writing must be like eviscerating.
SMiLES PoETrY
LiViNG FLoWeRS
SMiLinG ToMB
to:
WarM
FRoM: SToNE
Flowers are alive
are words?
Are they set in stone
or as ephemeral as daisies?
For those who
Feel Colors in
FLoWeRS And
Words Poets
Do..:)
The colour of words
the colour of the wind
who knows?
We Co-create A FeeL
And Sense oF iT
Science SHows it..:)
I believe it 🙂
i FeeL and Sense it
No need for
Science..:)
🙂 Agree.
..:D
Terrific write – the line ‘The songs brought in poor baggage wrapped in sighs,’ took me to all those refugees hoping for a new safe life somewhere. Add in life, death, beauty, the world: all great reasons to write. Bravo.
Immigrants/refugees were who I had in mind. Thanks Peter!
Beautiful. An awe filtered by the bittersweet.
Thank you, Brendan.
The dark corners will always follow us. Haunting words, much to think about. And never really complete–very true. (K)
Trying to define what is poetry isn’t easy, but I think it’s everything put into words, not just the nice and photogenic.
This poem has left me contemplating the power of words. Thank you for using your words to create this reflective place.
Thanks Ali! I’m so pleased you enjoyed reading.
This is beautiful as it stands, I love the ending.
In falcon feathers across the wintry sky,
Is all, of life of love,
And the quiet of solace of death.
💜💜💜
Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Sometimes I tie myself up in knots working out what I really think.
I think we are all guilty of that. Sometimes we think too much, sometimes less is more!
Right. It’s certainly more restful.
I agree…let sleeping dogs lie. Beautiful write.
Thank you, Vivian 🙂
😊
I like that you wrote about another side of poems.
Thanks Bekkie. I don’t think it’s the role of poetry to be simply navel-gazing. It has to be universal, inclusive, all-embracing, even when it’s hard to listen to.
Oh yes! Diversity is the best.
🙂