November's Cold Road
by
Nancy Pawley
copyright 12-13-2005
Age Rating: 10 to 127
November’s Cold Road smells of pungent cotton
A white bumper crop just recently harvested
From one hundred acres on the old family homestead
The patched pewter windmill's mesmerized by the sun
Manitou circles spin the Cardinal Carillon
Marathon tones woo what’s left of the wind
Celestial notes rising, to heaven ascend
Swirling in dust motes of bright celadon
Which gradually change into sleet-sharpened cyclones
Multistage shards pierce the ice-spirit sky
Suffocating sweet soprano bright
Suffusing the dismal twilight with beastly baritone
Pervading my mind with emotional chills
I seal the flap on my heart’s envelope
And tighten my scarf ‘gainst the hangman’s scope
Praying for warmth and Spring-time renewal
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I love the sensations and richness in this poem, with just enough metaphor and symbolism to "take it deeper." There is almost a Keatsian bliss in the thought of death here.
I loved the beautiful imagery in this poem. I was so good I read it several times. My favorites:
The patched pewter windmill's mesmerized by the sun
Celestial notes rising, to heaven ascend
Swirling in dust motes of bright celadon
I must admit I didn't understand the hangman's scope.
I hope to meet you out here again-hoping we can become friends,
This is a very eloquent poem, depicting forces beyond our control. Life-forces abound in this piece. The tolling of mechanical bells ring true in one's mind. We cannot control life, let alone the appointed hour. This is a very mystical piece, but I would be careful not to discourage your readers with too much verbatim. William Shakespeare was the master of this type of poetry, but he suffered from theatrical bliss, if you asked me! I find that in this piece, the imagery is very difficult to conjure up. This is due to the author's mastery of unusual words that do not immediately connect the piece. One must make a valiant effort to collocate these words into an immediate picture in order to attain the full flavor of the meaning behind this piece.
I was raised in Nebraska, well some of the time. I remember this like it was yesterday. Going to the bus stop in the morning and feeling the wind slip through any crack in my outer gametes. Lovely scene you have painted. Thanks for the trip home! Anthony
Welcome !
