death’s bouquet.

in womb, the fingers of tree

an ancestress trunk in sects of strife,

as born and lived through roots

like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet

in November’s winds; shackled

in ebbs and flows, mosaics of flattered

seas are astray, where they are now writhing

for their shamed skeletons;

they are conches swayed, rocking

for what never existed.

I drown into the ancient

mist, mouth in the red heart

of the ocean’s bosom, lain yet a shyness

or coldness nigh roses, never dust.

Fingers pried in circuity,

displeased at winter’s eye lay bare

in cosseted hibernations, scorn

elk and deer; your ancient words

die, yet still it is abused delighted

in elysian tombs, in times thrilled

too soon, unbridled in naught shadows

but the dither of the moon, and the dying echoes

as a sequitur.  


Written for the dVerse prompt: Write a poem about November and tell us what it means to you.

Mainly a stream of consciousness piece, but with a cycle of reflection of oneself and loving/hating the cold weather that comes with November. That’s what it means to me. 🙂

Some Of Us” by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard was a large inspiration for this poem. I played it on repeat while writing.


50 thoughts on “death’s bouquet.

  1. I felt that November wind today, Lucy. No ancient mists today, but we’ve had a few already – North Norfolk is notorious for its mists and sea frets. I love the image of ‘mosaics of flattered seas’, the ‘dither of the moon’ and the ‘dying echoes as a sequitur’.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Gorgeous!! 💝 Yes, I agree 🙂 November is unmistakably a month that allows one to brood and to be buoyant at the same time. Especially love; “I drown into the ancient mist, mouth in the red heart of the ocean’s bosom, lain yet a shyness or coldness nigh roses, never dust.” 💝

    Liked by 2 people

  3. i always think that stream of consciousness is really hard, but enjoyed following yours and seeing the images and feelings that have been conjured up in your mind and formed in the words.

    Like

  4. From the title, to the ending lines, your poem reverberates with death and darkness that captures the mood of November. Those elysian tombs hint of another time and place, adding another mysterious element to your poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Unless you have means to get to the tropics, your choice is:
    “ancestress trunk in sects of strife,
    as born and lived through roots
    like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet”
    Intense and honest writing, as usual, Lucy.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I think November is a month well-suited to the imagery your poetry conveys: ‘death’s bouquet’ is such a poignant way to frame it. That’s indeed what we see in November in the Northern Hemisphere.

    Liked by 1 person

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