A Trickster's Sky Grey, the inconsolable sky squeezes, contracts around me like a mother's laboured pain pressing inward its raw, damp fear; rain, nothing more than mist, really, gathers on a tin roof, trickling soundlessly earthward. . . its voiceless authority draws all warmth from within me. Nameless, clenching writhings rise unbidden from my soul's foundation. . . tears fall thicker than the rain mistings. I ache for the want of you. And the Universe is still ever the Trickster's companion . . . even Lazarus laughs
Nancy M. Hill's Questions:
1. Are the allusions in the last two lines ambiguous so as not to be understood?
2. Do I establish the mood of loss?
3. Any general comments or feedback on the form are welcomed.
[his fields lie fallow] His fields lie fallow no clod upturned to breathe spring's incarnation through fervent soil grains of life. Agéd tractor rusted by rests with engine dormant kept company with dusty, unsharpened tools devoted, patient for the return. Vines tended, trained range to feral climes, searching. Dented old truck engraved by hewn boughs, a rake flung hastily, smells rich of loamy compost. Expectant furling flag half-masted over hummocks effusive with neglect, beckons discloses. His fields lie fallow, pausing mid-season for the return. Even so, how do you tell a clod of earth or knitted vines the guardian too lies fallow in the field.
Nancy M. Hill's Questions:
1. Is the tone reverent for the death I am remembering?
2. Is the imagery clear to you?
3. How do the first and last of the poem affect you?