Jan 22, 2018

Death of a Poet




“…gleicht dem ungeschaffnen Gang des Schwanes.” —Der Schwan, Rainer Maria Rilke


By day’s end we are spent,

our lumbering through this

living slumber to the last look

light leaves us at the lakeshore,

swan‑like fierceness flickering

under feathers white and tomb‑like.


How horribly the waters part

beneath us, surround on all sides,

grapple us with long ripples,

bony strokes pressing us to

the lowest point of the lake floor.

There the silt settles from waters


stirred and cycling around us,

laid with whispered prayers

and dreams too terrible

to remember by morning.

How stunned and numbly we wake,

shake off the watery shroud,


breathe awareness through

lungs drowned by night’s respite.

We stumble down to lividity, hers,

a thought unshaken by morning’s breath,

desperate death where the heart

stops and air escapes altogether.


Now, words stick fast to the inner

walls, my chest still grasping for air,

stubbornly held by the dream’s

dampened and delicate darkness,

drifting in the swan’s scything path

and death, which is a letting go.

Thanks, Lee. I wrote this after a long dry spell, following the unexpected death of my MIL, who was visiting us at the time. It's been a few years, but it was poetry that helped me find my way back to writing.

Jan 23, 2018

Seems sad to me,beutiful words full of sadness and loss!thanks for sharing more than your words,your pain!deb

I write from many different sources/reasons.

Sometimes I write from memories, sometimes from heartbreak, other times from current events. Then there are times when I seem to just write off the top of my head. That is where I get my sharp wit from because my head is pointed. (really!)


There is a ridge on the top of my head from front to back. That has cause me to hit my head in the cellar, low hanging branches, etc... more than most people.

Jan 24, 2018

Very detailed and powerful imagery, Donald. Your poems always take us on a mental journey. Thank you for posting and sharing!

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