“Thicker than rain-drops on November thorn”
Fragment 8: Samuel Taylor Coleridge
sloe is the blackthorn
fast-filling up with feverish flower
garlanded tight and white
- and spiked in its innermost reach
a blackbird's nest, mud-cupped
ruinous, in this sad, sodden rain
souvenir of just last March
when we were we and I was
less than solitary
A quadrille for De’s prompt to Spike up a poem – that’s 44 words not counting the Coleridge opener
ah the ache is so real
Happy Monday
much love…
thanks Gillena (sorry spam net caught you for some unknown reason)
Goodness. The word choices here are fantastic, and the sounds they make against each other. Begs to be read aloud. More than once. Wonderful.
Was slow starting this one – but then the fruit ripened for your prompt 😉 – thanks De
This is well crafted Laura. The “s” aliteration resonates effectively… very nice!
alliteration is second nature perhaps because I used to have a bit of an s lisp and had to recite tongue twisters!
I admire the subtle emotions underpinning your poem Laura. That feverish flower is gorgeous imagery of March’s springtime.
currently Spring Is lying in a cold wet bed but the thoughts are all here and last years memories
The glory of spring well described … and then a touch of loss perhaps?
indeed Beverly – see Dedication
Another sloe poem! I like the sounds in this poem. The esses are wonderful when read aloud.
esses for Spring – great minds then!
“sloe is the blackthorn
fast-filling up with feverish flower
garlanded tight and white
– and spiked in its innermost reach”
I like the language of that. And the subtlety of that spiked in its innermost reach. Does a great job of making the outer form an inner one, both for the flower and the poet.
a beautiful summation and insightful – thank you for this
So melancholy – beautiful
melancholy March – does have some recent sad memories for me though normally mood picks up with the thought of Spring – this year it is wet enough to prompt the building of an ark
Oh boy. Let’s hope it passes soon.
I love the wordplay in the opening lines, Laura. Blackthorn is a spring delight; there is so much going on in the hedgerows, behind the scenes and slowly at first. The turn in tone is subtle yet devastating, made more so by the way you foreground ‘sad, sodden rain / souvenir of just last March’ with alliteration and leave ‘less than solitary’ until the end, hanging in the spring air.
spot on Kim – there are two moods side by side.
…. ❤️
“sloe is the blackthorn
fast-filling up with feverish flower
garlanded tight and white
– and spiked in its innermost reach”
This is absolutely stunning in its nuances and choice of words and imagery, Laura! ❤️
I like nuances – thank you Sanaa
Nice line: “fast-filling up with feverish flower”
thanks Frank – after all, the blackthorn is nothing if not exuberant
I do love the contrasts… the melancholy weaved with the anticipation of spring… like the flowers of sloe hiding the thorns.
very nicely observed Bjorn
“when we were we” — What a great phrase.
And a great thing it was
Just read this one by STC in the past week or two, so it is a delight to see it here. That photo is almost blinding in its silver quality – just perfect! Love the line ‘white and tight’ – white, with all its symbolic implications, is overwhelmingly accurate and painful in this poem. This, contrasted with the hope of spring, in all of its symbolism. Wonderful post.
I have only just discovered the Fragments and assumed jottings of inspiration & drafts. Thank you Jilly – Your observations of hope and grief are so accurate and now have fully understood what I wrote of the innermost spike