Silence and Cold

by

I beg your indulgence, all of you, for one more attempt at versification. This is a bad attempt at Spanish verse form: 8 syllable, abbaabba and consonant rhyme. I tried to make it sound the way classical guitar sounds to me; somber, almost sad, but with purpose. Dunno if it worked.

Again, our prayers and good wishes go out to the people of Spain.

My bed has been cold in the night
And I feel the space like an ache
Though still I pretend a mistake
is now what keeps you from my sight
I will laugh, quite soon, at my fright
That you, dear one, me could forsake –
But slowly I feel my heart break
And shiver at the dimming light.

I hear the silences more, now –
The ones trapped in guitar string
Where once the noble notes would ring
To ease my heart and smooth my brow
I know you (though I know not how)
Itch to play, golden notes to bring
But you cannot play, cannot sing
For you have made yourself a vow.

My love, my love, I live no more.
But I will not forsake you yet;
Heaven can wait and need not fret
Anew I’ll find that road, I’m sure –
But I will wait and will endure
until our souls once more are met
A task I choose not to regret.
So play, and be silent no more.

5 thoughts on “Silence and Cold”

  1. Moe, I applaud your poemblogging, and offer a version of your first stanza in accord with my view that there can be no offense in discussions of craft.
    My bed is cold tonight.
    The space beside me is an ache.
    I pretend that a mistake
    keeps you from my sight.
    When I can I’ll laugh at my fright
    that you, dear one, might forsake
    me, but for now my heart must break
    in the useless dimming light.

  2. “The strike of the black wind of death, the expected strike against America, is now at its final stage — 90 percent ready.”
    A Storm
    A storm is rising, and the dark.
    The sky seems to gasp in fright.
    The wind roars, “Let the dogs bark.
    I bring something worse than night.
    Let there be no rainbow-arc.
    Let black clouds block the sun in spite.
    Let blindness be broken by stark
    Vision, let lightning burn the sight
    Once more – Paul’s divine spark,
    But killing. Let faith fight
    Despair and fail. Let men mark
    There lives a rage that will requite.”
    copyright PAH, 2003.

  3. My first verse definitely needs work, and I like some of your alternate choices better, but the 8 syllable structure is somewhat important in its own right.

  4. Missed the 8-syllable part. I don’t think this form is very suited to rhyme-poor English, but
    My bed – our bed – is cold tonight.
    The space beside me is an ache.
    I tell myself that a mistake,
    a nothing, keeps you from my sight.
    When I can I’ll laugh at my fright
    that you, dearest one, might forsake
    me, but for now my heart must break,
    cold, brittle in the dimming light.
    That’s too tough a form for me.

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