Of sadness and sorrow
Washing over the land,
Elusive bubbles of peace
Popping in puddles,
Bursting like wishes,
Rain or tears running down
Red-rimmed roof tiles,
Bare branches, and bent grass,
A soul wants to sing and fly;
But a heart, tone-deaf and heavy,
Holding a dirge at daybreak,
A forsaken bairn wails
In the hollow of a tree; an error,
A mistake, shadowless on a sunny day,
Ahhhh, the winter is long and heavy even on the Med.
I do believe, as spring returns, the soul and the heart will fly together again.
Mistakes, errors – how they haunt.
Exquisite, precise, poignant piece.
I think some landscapes are more suited than others to rainy weather. I always felt that Brittany is fabulous and wild in the winter when it rains on fat grasses, gnarly trees and shiny granit rocks, the sea spitting at them with gusto. But the Med doesn’t wear grey gracefully. Provence needs sun to spin its magic I think.
Thank you for the compliments my friend.
Was reading this today and you floated into my mind, so I share it with you in case there is a kernel of interest… http://aeon.co/magazine/being-human/olivia-laing-me-lonely-in-manhattan/
Thank you Kat. It was very interesting.
I hope the weather turns soon, and your mood livens. Grey is good sometimes, special times, but without the colours we can never dance 😉
Sometimes the weather is suited to the mood. Either way, it’s not dancing music 😉
The ground is saturated; the mountain drips incessantly; the Med ate a beach last week and is munching away on another.
If only I could keep my feet warm!
Come to Brazil… Seems we’re stuck inside an oven 😦
I love how “popping in puddles/Bursting like wishes” sounds. It’s like a hopeful distraction.
The poem’s main sound is like the sound of waves, or like when you’re lulled into listening to a small boat gently bumping the dock it’s tied to. You’re hypnotized by the rhythm of the wave motion then all of a sudden there’s this “bing!” “bing! ” of a bell that breaks the rocking.
Popping is such a great word for its sharpness, and followed by the low thump of the B in bursting? Fantastique.
Ah! you heard the music and rhythm, wonderful! I’m glad Merci beaucoup.
Such beautiful melancholy
Thank you. Sometimes the grey overwhelms and colors wash out of everything.
Un mot Ecossais, UnElephant croit.
C’est une influence dangereuse!
Et le gris de la Med est beau toujours.
Sans la violence du gris du Nord, bien sur.
Et, comme toujors, ton poeme dit tout, parfaitement.
Je ne sais pas d’ou cela vient, mais je suis sure que c’est dangereux!
La Med est toujours belle, c’est vrai, mais c’est la pluie qui ne chante pas la meme chanson que mon ame.Tu comprends.
Ah, Emm, I can empathize with you. It’s been too gray, too cold, and for too long. Winter’s grip has been unrelenting and seems it will never end. Maybe it will warm by June????? Hugs…, and stay warm.
Thank you Paul. keep that fire going. Hugs
I hope that is just a poem, not actual depression 🙂
Just the blues Nannus.