Cursed be the Light
15 May 2016
WARDLEY D. BARRY-IGIVISA
An entry in the Crocodile Prize
The dawn sweeps carelessly over the hills….
And you now live a thousand miles from me.
Cursed be the light! There’s a darkness here still.
I am cursed more for I’m forced to see
The remains of our love being swept away.
In its wake is nothing save a memory;
A bitter-sweetness to drink each new day.
Yet a taste of the magic still lingers
On my lips, a blend of strawberry and
Vanilla brewed on a cold September.
At times, dreams bear wings to reach out to you
Hoping to bring you a little closer,
Like it was when our love was new and true;
When our stories have their own liveliness;
A time when you’re mine …. and I were yours too.
Ay, we’re now mere memories to collect as
The dawn sweeps carelessly over the hills!
But light does not shine in empty spaces.
Cursed be the light! There’s a darkness here still.
I was amazed by the literary construction and how Waldy D Barry pinned it on the wall so dramatically, drawing my imagination into the overwhelming possibility that I am the subject of this outstanding poem, "Cursed be the light."
Posted by: Leeboy Tobias | 18 May 2016 at 12:16 PM
Bitter-sweet memories - this poem is nicely done.
I like that refrain,"The dawn sweeps carelessly over the hills / Cursed be the light! There’s a darkness here still."
For those looking into the form, it is a blend of villanelle and terza rima, the two lines are key, along with an accompanying alternating rhyme scheme.
One of my all time favourites is found here https://thunder-weather.obsidianportal.com/
Lewis Turco
Terzanelle in Thunderweather
This is the moment when shadows gather
under the elms, the cornices and eaves.
This is the center of thunderweather.
The birds are quiet among these white leaves
where wind stutters, starts, then moves steadily
under the elms, the cornices, and eaves—
these are our voices speaking guardedly
about the sky, of the sheets of lightning
where wind stutters, starts, then moves steadily
into our lungs, across our lips, tightening
our throats. Our eyes are speaking in the dark
about the sky, of the sheets of lightening
that illuminate moments. In the stark
shades we inhibit, there are no words for
our throats. Our eyes are speaking in the dark
of things we cannot say, cannot ignore.
This is the moment when shadows gather,
shades we inhibit. There are no words, for
this is the center of thunderweather.
Posted by: Michael Dom | 15 May 2016 at 04:27 PM