I,m trying a change of direction with my theme, bear with me while I try out different ones.
Today, a rewrite of the notes I posted in my Flame Trees post.
I have a provisional title now of Old Bones Let me know what you think of the changes.
In the distance the mountain rises,
I can see the mass, white sided
draped in cloud.
A beast, a winter cat with
black eyes watching.
Old bones cold in the ground.
Rock only gives warmth
stolen from the sun, and here
the cloud lowers, a shuttering of eyes.
A landscape pressed down,
scraped hard against the sky,
a watching time-scale.
I thought the last section a bit cheesy so removed it all together, but now it may seem a bit impersonal, I’ll let it settle and see what I think. I liked the picture, the way the cloud hugs the hill. Always a fascinating sight I think, and since I haven’t been able to get out into the snow so far this year it makes me feel good to see old haunts. Here’s the original version of the poem, direct from the notebook.
Old bones cold in the ground
hard against the sky.
A landscape written against a slow step,
pressed down, washed over, grooved and cracked.
Forced and shaped by another time-scale,
to watch as we pass by so fast
you do not even weep at our passing,