August spits and holds

[grannyjill]

Thank you Dale. I do try, honest I do...to 'get' what the poet is trying to say...but, if nothing appears, I give up. As you say, maybe that is because there isn't anything there to find.


Thanks, Leanne, I will give what you say some thought, too.

---

This may interest you. I wrote this many years ago and posted it on line. It received countless responses praising it and reading all kinds of meaning into it.

There is no meaning. I used a Dylan Thomas poem for style, although I had only read the first verse of his poem, and proceeded to write all sorts of rubbish which fitted.

The wind that steals the wine
from hanging cups
Steals my breath; that slows the
quickened pulse
Stays my heart
And I am dumb to tell the spirit
How the force of life is stilled.

The fist that beats against the cold
casement panes
Shatters the rainbow; that girdles the
embracing sky
Breaks the spell
And I am dumb to tell what colours fall
Or how dull remains the earth and heaven.

The power that deals the world
a tabled path
Transcends the minutia; but forms the
fist of fate
Destiny calls the tune
And I am dumb to tell the knave
How the punchless joke is made

And I am dumb to tell the infant
How eternity is filled with countless graves.