Life's shortest day
.original poetry
and photos
.
@d-pend
Life's shortest day
Lilt-step—
unrhythm lurched
beyond recognition,
yet she returns to me.
Whistle and stroll,
a silver banister of chrome.
Wayward gold,
made me a monument
with the wind's whimsy
at my back,
propelled
by a solitary tine.
Memories surge,
but single-file.
Verdure of mind,
cerulean waves
to bypass the turnstile.
They flood the street;
The solstice sets.
And now there's
no one on the path
to greet—I smile.
writing and images
12/21/18
by @d-pend
The trees and bushes' winter look, along with the ancient/abandoned-looking stone wall, provide an image of desolation, mitigated only at the end with a pitiful (?) smile and an image of shoots that seem to spring to the foreground.
The winter solstice, a common occurrence, 4 days ago now, the shortest day of the year, is exponentially dramatized as the shortest day of life. I am not sure I can decipher what the shortest day of life can mean or look like, unless I am a being subject to seasonal life cycles or I am winter itself.
The story of Persephone comes to mind, the damsel kidnapped and married forcefully to the god of the underground and ending up being shared by the living and the dead, thus bringing life to the surface and taking it down after an agreed period.
It poses the question: who or what is the Persephone in our life? Do we have the same certainty that she will return to us?
The poem adds to a series of nostalgic descriptions of times past and loves gone.
Who is the “they” that flood the streets, if there is no one to greet? Leaves maybe, leaving their trees with a promise of a comeback?
With the arrival of winter’s frigid temperatures, people abandon the streets. Only homeless and poets wander about looking for muses and reasons.
Bad times breed deserters; only the hopeful stay.
Merry Chrismas, @d-pend.
Beautiful lines with beautiful shots !
There is a calm calm accompanying the solitary who walks whistling streets that remember their steps in other times in which there were people around, passers-by, interests, dreams to fulfill. Now, there are memories and a melody of time cut, yearnings and detention to the melancholy.
Happy advent of the Spirit of Christmas, my dear friend, @ d-pend.
Realistic analysis of life by a great poet's mind along with abstracts photography
Have a good day and Happy Christmas day @d-pend sir
Nicely done my friend. Enjoy your talent in poetry. Blessings
Beautifully crafted. Thanks
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STOPGreat poetry sir.
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Really nice winter photos
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This part of the poem keeps playing back in my head:
We walk down the paths of life and remember one by one lost memories on this day already past with the blowing of the wind.
The rising sun shines two days later bringing warmth, light and hope to a longer day and even brighter smile to those who will pass by on my next path.
Truly lovely @d-pend . The quiet of the solitary can be a wondrous thing.