Monday, October 13, 2008

Beneath the Boughs



The leaves have forgotten their beginnings
and the plunge they took to mark the days,
while the crickets cannot find dawn’s light
in their catacombs of pulsing decay

But Puck’s small daughter whittles these losses
on her wanderer’s throne ‘neath the boughs,
where a lake of fire singes her legs
and Black Knight cheats Dragon’s fury of jaws

7 comments:

jason evans said...

I like the small intimacy of the forest picture. The small places can suddenly loom so large.

Crickets cannot find dawn's light.... That's such a penetrating way to put it. There *is* a confused feel to the cricket song now. Like they can't stop. A desperate run from the long cold to come.

Aine said...

Spring and autumn are times when I most enjoy building fairy houses in the woods (with the girls). This post evokes mystical images of fairies celebrating the season.
:)

Sarah Hina said...

Jason, I liked the idea of a young girl spinning large tales from the small elements around her.

And yes, I'm listening to those crickets' right now. Their song makes me want to protest the coming winter, too. ;)

Aine, that's the feeling I was aiming for!

I don't know what it is about spring and autumn that moves me to write more poetry, and inspires you and the girls to create that magic together. Maybe the momentum from all the changes makes us want to slow things down, and live more fully in the moment. Fairies included. :)

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

That was magical, Sarah. I love mossy rocks and woodlands. I am sure Oberon and Titania have danced many a night under the boughs and on the mossy stone in your photo.

I love that we do not see things as THEY are - but, rather see them as WE are. :)

The leaves have forgotten their beginnings
and the plunge they took to mark the days...
Fabulous!

Sarah Hina said...

K., thank you for the lovely comment! And you're right that, at the best of times, the world can become a reflection of our spirit.

Puck remains one of my favorite Shakespearean characters. And that has nothing to do with Robert Sean Leonard's final speech as Puck in Dead Poet's Society. ;)

I'm glad you liked this one, K. It means a lot to me.

ChrisEldin said...

Ditto Jason. I love taking a 'small' piece of life and putting a microscope to it.
Very well written!

Vesper said...

I can only imagine Puck's small daughter...

What a perfect image for the season this poem is...