Crimson wings cast weak shadows on russet fluffs
still standing from once-sunny goldenrod; they clump,
the mangy fur of a hungry coyote lost from its pack.
Limp, muted green mats of still grass fill the spaces,
where deer lie, hide to hide, in their warm rests until
Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl.
I look down past my red fuzzy slippers, penetrating to
orange doppelganger; coquettish, magnetic core who
styles herself upon engine a galaxy away; veiled by
mantled rock or miasmic cloud, do obscure the same.
I, paste mangy mimic, cocoon in chill patient gloom
waiting for the turn, a pale white, disconsolate worm.
Sanaa is today’s host for dVerse’ Poetics. Sanaa says:
For Today’s Poetics, I want you to become the embodiment of winter. Tell us what you feel during this season. Describe a typical day in January. Feel free to go dark and philosophical or perhaps even write a story poem like Whiteman. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.
I love how you capture that winter landscape with the hope a pale disconsolate worm.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Bjorn.
LikeLike
This is incredibly potent, Lisa! I especially like; “Limp, muted green mats of still grass fill the spaces, where deer lie, hide to hide, in their warm rests until Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl.” Thank you so much for adding your voice to the prompt 💘💘
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks much, Sanaa!
LikeLike
this is gorgeous Lisa! 🙂 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks much, Carole Anne!
LikeLiked by 1 person
☮️Love reading your poetry Lisa it’s so good
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤
LikeLike
This is so powerful….the imagery is amazing.
“russet fluffs
still standing from once-sunny goldenrod;” What an incredibly accurate but beautiful way to describe the wintry “leftovers” of the bloom.
So very impressed with this write.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lillian, thank you. The other day I walked kitchen scraps out to the compost pile and noticed them. Something I’d walked past many times and never noticed. Nature always likes to surprise us.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love your use of colour in this poem, Lisa, from the crimson wings and russet fluff to the red, fuzzy slippers, juxtaposed with ‘the mangy fur of a hungry coyote lost from its pack’ and the ‘pale white, disconsolate worm’.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Kim, happy you enjoyed it and appreciate the kind words.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the idea of looking down past your red fuzzy slippers and contemplating deep thoughts!
Well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dwight, thank you. I’m not sure where that came from. I just imagined my vision going down to the center of the earth and finding it a flimsy substitute for the sun.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I tend to go off down the rabbit hole at times . A word or line catches me. Must have been the slippers! :>)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Luv the warmth in your slippers
Much❤love
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Gillena!
LikeLike
Chill patient gloom…exactly. (K)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, K.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love your poem Li.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks much, Sadje!
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely use of personification and metaphors throughout the poem. I especially loved this, “”Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl.” I like the idea of Venus as beckoning very much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Jay. I’ve been reading about medicine bowls and they are described as a bowl of water where you can look in and see the stars. Also, about the morning star, Venus, and knowing Venus is the goddess of love, thought to incorporate these things into the poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such a beauty of a poem, particularly that last line “Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
Misky thanks so much ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Somehow you make words go together that no one else would think of, very well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Randy, you make my day with your comment. Thank you very much. I do like the way this one turned out.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You have a gift no doubt
LikeLiked by 1 person
❤
LikeLike
The colours, gloom, all well portrayed, Li. Splendid writing! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Kitty, thanks so much ❤
LikeLike
This one had to be hard to write…it flows great
LikeLiked by 1 person
Max, I believe that that more time taken with a poem, the better it is, because you can polish it and change words that fit better. I’m sure it is like any art (writing, drawing, painting, music, sculpture, cinema.) Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This cascades like a waterfall, Lisa. A stunning poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sara, many thanks.
LikeLike