Journey

Journey

 

 

a shot of brandy

and a turpentine dream vanishes

 

the colors absorbed in white

pure as the plum tree blues

in late August

 

October shines with a slight hangover

leaflets handed out by thinning branches

saying "it's time to reminisce and ready ourselves for our fall"

 

the drunken grace we all share

smiles passing out in grandiose fashion

we are an oil painting of past loves

dripping in the heat of a Harvest Moon

 

as the white light snows us in

and we float to the other side...

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

10/17/19

Reviews

[BlackRose]

As usual, you write another masterpiece. Always loved your clever usage of words, engaging the reader each time. How you express it well in that way. Of once was may soon or is bringing anew of better things to come. Not faced alone but with others in the same, something we wish all didn't have to face at some point/s in our life or another.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your very kind review, BlackRose,
j.

[BlackRose]

You're welcome my friend. BR @'~/:o)

[Eilis]

A visually stunning one here, Jacob. Pure as the plum tree blues is an inspired image. I love the way this scene itself embodies the falling away that autumn can be. The signaling of some impending thing that brings with it a period of darkness. But the darkness doesn’t have to be the main thing.

How we encounter the new thing becomes the challenge. I love the collective spirit threaded through the idea here. The hope that we can face it, not alone, but in ‘the drunken grace we all share.’ Excellent.

The uncertainty of what’s to come being secondary to the moment. Or that’s what the poem is saying to me now.

I love the feeling of this one.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your insightful review, Eilis...
appreciate your visits...
j.

[Benita-Staebell M - Kin..]

Onward we float to
newer fresher positive
journeys of life,

As we
leave behind our painful
past and create something
even better than what we
once had.

Nicely penned my friend
Benita



the drunken grace we all share

smiles passing out in grandiose fashion

we are an oil painting of past loves

dripping in the heat of a Harvest Moon



as the white light snows us in

and we float to the other side...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review, Benita,
j.

[barleygirl]

Love your imagery, a million miles from the glut of autumn sentiments. Love opening juxtaposition of brandy & turpentine . . . "leaflets handed out by thinning branches" (stunning word crafting) . . . and I love how the journey goes instantly from sweltering harvest moon to white light chill on the other side (great ending!) Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your very kind review, Margie,
j.

[MCS]

love all the layers you've painted here...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, MCS,
j.

[Chris Shaw]

'we are an oil painting of past loves
dropping in the heat of a Harvest Moon". Wonderful expression there Jacob.

In the autumn of our years I imagine all of us reflect on former relationships. Some will bring us a smile, some we will shed a tear over and some we will wish we had never experienced. All part of life's rich tapestry, as we like the tree approach our own winter.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your insightful review, my friend...
j.

[Chris Shaw]

Please ignore the typo. I did read it as dripping and not dropping J.

[andrew mitchell]

Yes it is a journey for the seasons and for us too as we change as we grow older.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, andrew,
j.

[Michael Oliver]

Ah yes those autumnal days equating with our autumnal years an ever present subtext to our lives. One however hard we try we cannot escape - oh ye oh yes - but really a yell of NO!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"don't go gentle into that good night" thank you for your words, Michael...
j.

[Michael Oliver]

Must be in my genes I was born in the same part of Swansea where Dylan Thomas spent his childhood

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, yes, it is in your genes, my friend...no doubt.
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Jacob... life is so short in the Autumn
of our years. It seems a dream along a stream of
bitter-sweet stepping stones where we learned to
sing a lullaby to a whippoorwill... with the sun shining
on the ripples of romantic interludes. "As the white light
snows us in and we float to the other side". truly, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you replies are always so poetic, Pat, and so appreciated...
j.