Monday, 29 October 2012

High Notes on a Falling Scale

I love autumn. I don't find it a depressing season. The incredible colours of turning leaves never fail to fill me with optimism along the lines of optimism, hope, and defiance even at a time of sadness for the beginnings of endings…

[Photo taken from the Internet]


In a garden spread with dead leaves
and heads of flowers,
I heard a story told by a dying rose
soon to breathe its last,
about a Stoic in Red passing through
the world scaring us
like the Bogey Man who lives under
a child’s bed, pretending to roar
like a dragon out for sport
yet made to look small, caught out
like the family pet

Neither young nor old, a Stoic in Red
wears buttons of gold
on a coat the colour of blushing cheeks
at our making a faux pas,
made to look as small as a dragon under
our bed at night long ago
when every dawn a prologue to adventure
though, by sunset, traces of blood
enough to make us glad
computer games are but fairytale
gone mad

According to the rose, the Stoic in Red
has kindly ways
in spite of luring savage cloud and wind
like hungry beasts
to feed off gentle trees, rip them bare
while a few songbirds dare
watch and wonder about songs they once
made, turned into dreams then
gave a friendly sandman
to paint the world’s bleakest scenarios
with brave colours

He comes for me, said the rose, and I depart
though a Stoic in Red keeps me in his heart

[From: Accomplices To Illusion by R, N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2007]

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