August is more cruel than April ~
he bears no flowers, no tears ~
just hot, angry breath on my neck...
April is a little girl,
splashing obliviously through mud puddles ~
August is a bitter old man
whose soul is cracked and parched...
There is no respite
from the fire he brings ~
no cool wind, no warm rain ~
only the sun beating down
& burning my heart...
The barren landscape singes memory,
unwilling to release it to the peace found in dreams ~
weeping will not permeate the hard ground
where my life lies bleeding...
Healing will come on the slow, subtle wings of time
& birds will trill once more ~
until then, I hear only aching silence
echoing within caverns of thought...
~ revision & rewrite of a poem from 1999
April 15, 2006
3:30 p.m.
Author notes
I wrote this in memory of my mother & sister,
who both passed away during the month of August...
Inspired by "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot
Re~written April 15th, 2006
In a list
- Saying Goodbye • next in list
- Revisions of a Sigh (under construction) • next in list
- Inspired by Famous People • next in list
- Sorrow • next in list
- Deep, Dark & Depressing as Hell • next in list
- Stories • next in list
- Gathering Possibilities • next in list
- Dedications (under construction) • next in list
- Inspired by...Various (under construction) • next in list
- WLB Alpha • next in list
What did you think
Comments
1 - 20 of 20
-
yes, I agree, my grandmother died last August, so I was maybe going to write about August too. I feel it as much the same way as you have written it here. Excellent personification & poetry...
it amazes me how months affect people so much...how different months make us remember different times in our life...
-
I was right, yours is just as beautiful....
I love "April is a little girl,
splashing obliviously through mud puddles" and the comparisons to August..
The way you've given life to the two seasons.. one young one old.. because I see them in a similar way ...
August forgives nothing.. ( even if I was born on the first day of the month )..
I was struck by April so much in Eliot's write, by what seemed to be his dislike of it.. if that makes sense... and what I see in yours, is a disagreement... much as it was in mine... if that makes sense? ..
Thank you for directing me ...here ...
it's beautiful....
-
It doesn't matter how old it was/is, Your imagery and God-given talent does not lose anything!
Your heart felt feelings and personification had me in tears. You encompass feelings felt by many.
I envision somewhat, the same feelings when I think of March. *shudder*
"Healing will come on the slow, subtle wings of Time
& birds will trill once more ~
until then, I hear only aching silence
echoing within caverns of Thought..."
...and it's deafening!
I hope this sharing eased your pain some.
Thank you for giving of yourself, Poet
~ Nicholas ~
-
the imagery was beyond vivid. free verse is definately your best style. i especially love the last two stanzas. this is one of those poems that i liked so much i can't leave a proper, coherent comment reflecting how much i liked it.
-
-
What you did say worked for me. Thank you for your kind words. Come by my pages anytime; you'll always be welcome there. Be well, Poet. 
Wanda
-
-
Know what, Wanda? A NEW kind of healing began about two days ago.
-
"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."
excerpt from: "The Waste Land" 1922
~ T.S. Eliot (1888–1965)
This stanza is why it's a response to Eliot. Thank you for hosting & for your kind comments...I'm pleased you enjoyed it...Be well, Poet... Wanda
-
well done
I like it! You've got great imigery and I can't spell, but I liek your comparasons.
But I must say I don't understand why its a responce to T S Eliot.
But the poem itself really does show your pain and bitterness of death. so well done -
Thank you for hosting & for your thoughtful words, Ron...I'm pleased you liked it...Be well, Poet... Wanda
-
wings of Time and caverns of Thought are metaphors that are interesting, quite profound. Aging through the emblematic seasons beginning with a reflection on Spring towards an "Indian" summer of heat are interesting ways of bringing into being human life and its inevitable passage. Thank you for this poem, Wanda. Thank you. Ron
-
Thank you for reading, Rory...I'm glad you liked it..I appreciate your Time...Be well, Poet... Wanda
-
I like this piece, your author's comments enlightens me as I now fully understand your message. An enjoyable read.
Rory -
I knew you would, Sweetie...
-
aye i remembered the poem
-
Thank you, Karen...I just edited, added some stanzas & revised this one to make it more current, since it was a poem I'd originally done in 1999 & no prewrites are allowed...I'm glad you liked it, Madame Librarian... Wander Lea
-
Here's your original comment from June 2004, my Friend...
"August is a good one for me. My mother was born on the last day of august and if it was not for my mother, I would not be alive right now. So I will smile at august and thank him for allowing my mother's life inside his days. i will pick june - the day you joined allp. my birthday. Yes to love. Well yes, it is all down to interpretation. when others see my artwork they say things that throw me sometimes. but i love it all the same. i am sorry for your loss inside of this month." -
Thank you for your wondrous words, Ian...I edited & revised the poem to make it more current & so it wouldn't be a prewrite...You remember, I'm quite sure, that the original poem was the very first one you'd commented on when I joined AP in June 2004...on your birthday...Thank you for your constant support, Dear Heart... Wanda
-
Oh this is another wonderful one Miss Author ... you are blazing today ... but I love August
(but I don't have painful memories though) ... but that line about April being a little girl playing in the mud was pure genius ... loved it 
-
I prefer June - I was born then, August I like for that is my mum's month and if she was not in August, neither would I be in June now. April, well I am in her dreams right now Spill ink and drink - wink - twist me into the shapely ape of love's nape.
Adding your comment:
1 - 20 of 20
