When the light falls hard

When the light falls hard

 

 

 

habitual longings

a love without trees

hanging residuals

the leaves glued to their own amusement

the heart a series of ripe veins

 

old again

old again

 

there was purpose in those lips once

now they glance

like a nearly missed jab

there is little resolution

behind what once were lethal kisses

 

I am the fallen maple leaf

taking the count

Winter always comes too soon

for the fighter

who doesn't know when to quit.

 

a love without trees

an empty arena

once standing room only

they have all moved on

now he just shadow boxes

his memory

 

the decision never in doubt.

 

 

 

erin-cilberto

11/29/21

Reviews

[shadrach hah]

Hi Jacob, Autumn turning to winter and we feel left behind somehow. Our voices don't seem to have substance anymore and the young just do not want to listen. Our leaves fall but they shall not grow back, once gone, they are now gone, thoughts on another horizon. Love leaves us alone and we are but cores of what we were, with memories. Have a wonderful Wednesday....Mike.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Really like where you took this one Mike,
thank you,
j.

[shadrach hah]

You are welcome, Jacob. Your poetry always sings. Have a wonderful Thursday....Michael.

[John the Baptist]

"The fighter who doesn't know when to quit." Makes me think of Muhammad Ali. The speaker here also appears to have had his bell rung too many times, albeit in a different way. It does get sad when you want a rematch but find you're not even ranked any more.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you are right , John, not ranked, just rank.
thank you,
j.

[Patricia]

I really love this, our autumn and winter, morbidity and mortality, memories, it’s a lot, a bit too much sometimes. I have to say though I like these years compared to my spring and summer. Seasons are wonderful muses and metaphors and you do them well.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and you are a kind reviewer, Patricia...
thank you for your words.
j.

[Chris Shaw]

Dear J as I read your lines, Simon and Garfunkel's The Boxer started to filter through. The autumn of our years sliding into winter. Aging sucks, however maple leaves are beautiful even when they are fallen. Yes I have visions of vibrant red maple leaves on cold snowy ground. You have a warm heart. My mind is drifting with the recent snowflakes which fell unexpectedly yesterday. This is beautiful poetry and so visual. The title, excellent. It captures the mood perfectly my friend.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

oh yes, "and he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame, I am leaving I am leaving, but the fighter still remains"
I don't
Thank you for your very kind heart and kind review.
j.

[Patricia Wedel]

dearest Jacob... never too old for Mistletoe... or planting a Balsam Tree or three... whose boughs may hold Memories when Hearts would hold the Stars that fell... Last year I planted a Fir tree in a lovely Pot and watered it when it was Hot... an still it lives with kisses from lips that knew the reason for Romance and the Dance of sugar plums and rum tum tum... wishing you Bluest lights from magic dreams. gently, Pat

[jacob erin-cilberto]

My mistletoe is only imagined these days...
I love blue lights.
thank you, Pat,
j.