Friday, November 18, 2005


November nights sound a
particular chord of silence,
the stillness of being and waiting,
of death and withdrawal;
with dark silhouettes of trees
and their few remaining leaves
motionless against a midnight sky.

Who would she be if
the surrounding quiet were
slowly distilled, drop by drop,
the elixir applied lovingly -
as with a cloth of finest muslin -
to her ever unquiet mind,
to soothe, and to caress it,
sinking into silence?


Blogger zhoen said...

Given how cold it was last night, I think I'd prefer wool or flannel, but neither are as poetical.

12:42 pm  
Blogger leslee said...

Very nice. :-)

11:09 pm  
Anonymous apples4me said...


4:34 am  
Blogger Gemma Grace said...

Ohhhh Mary ~~ what a soothing, healing image! It touches an inner longing to be still, to rest and to awaken refreshed. Thank you.

8:21 pm  
Blogger Mary said...

Thank you everyone. :-)

Zhoenw: ha! yes, the poem was actually written 10 days or so ago when it was much milder. We could do with the wool and flannel here now as well ...

5:58 am  
Blogger MB said...

I love the way the first stanze implies a question -- what's to be made of these dramatic images? what will the interpretation be?

And then the second stanza answers it with a loving soothing "suppose"...

Nicely done.

9:00 pm  
Blogger Mary said...

Moose: a commendation from you is a compliment indeed. Thank you.

9:53 am  

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