Friday, June 28, 2013


THERE is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was. 

Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.  

Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.  

Walter de la Mare

Image source.


Goneferalinidaho said...

Damn, I wish there was some cold air here, I biked home in 101 degrees. WTH??? I need a pool or fall, one or the other. Beautiful poem BTW.

Mine would be:

Sweating profusely, into the arid air

Hands slipping off handlebars,
stupid sweat

Concentrated saline drips into an eye, stings, reminding me that I'm insane

Inferno EVERYWHERE, hell has come to earth- no end in sight.

Rot said...



Anonymous said...

Nice poem. Great pic.


Sara said...

This poem is beautiful. Sad and beautiful.

Willow Cove said...

@ goneferal: that is a great poem! Were you in Florida at the time? Cause that so sounds like stepping outside at 6am here.

girl6 said...

Oh that poem is Heavenly
& the photo selection is Perfect--a weepy Beauty!

Eat your heart out Axl Rose... :D

you got some Talents gurl... :)
i dig that poem..sorta like your ode
to Dante's Inferno.
"Goneferal's Infero"...<3

here's to the Death of Summer
& may she suffer hard while taking her final wicked breath.