Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Poem: Dance of the Seasons

This time, I've got a poem for you. Now, I'm not a very good poet. In truth, I hate writing poetry because it's a terrible and unpleasant process for me. When I do write (usually because my creative writing class forces me to) I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing. That said, don't except this to be a great poem. Now why am I sharing it if I think it's bad? Well, even if it is bad as far as poetry goes, I feel like it's one of the better ones I've written (though I haven't written a lot). Also, it's based off of one of my favourite pieces of art: Frost Bearer by Sheila Wolk.

Source

Dance of the Seasons

She walks through fresh snow
Footprints light, barely
Brushing her toes against
Frigid powder.
Upon her head, icy
Leaves, branches, flowers,
Lace themselves down through
White hair, merging into the
Soft pearly fabric of her robe.
Icicles hang from the sleeves as
She embraces a crystal sphere;
The only colours within a white blizzard,
Glow and swirl.
Ruby, amber, and sapphire, they
Dance gracefully. Slowly, the
Shapes stretch and mold, until
Figures emerge, beautiful women
Naked and natural, never ceasing
To dance.
Scarlet and golden leaves poke out
From the hair of the ruby woman,
In the amber’s: summer flowers,
And young sprouts and blue-bells, the first
Signs of life threaded into the azure locks.
They dance and swirl, touching each other’s
Hands, arms, legs.
Separate but never truly
Isolated.
The white one carries them now,
But soon her time will pass
And the others will have their turn
To carry and protect the rest.

3 comments:

  1. I think that's quite beautiful and moving! It's wonderful what talent combined with inspiration can produce.

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  2. I think the idea is quite wonderful in itself. When it comes to its execution, I feel like sometimes the rhythm of some of the lines is a bit off. When I write poetry, I often experience similar issues and it helps me to read it out loud, so I can figure out the rhythm.

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    Replies
    1. Like I said, I'm not really a poet. This poem wasn't really supposed to have any rhyme or rhythm, more free verse. If I had amazing rhyming skills I'd be so happy, as it is though whenever I try to rhyme I sound like an eight year old. Oh well...

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