The Blue Hourbytwelveoone©
worthy of my undying regard - Joseph Conrad
Between twin dead branches, the blue dusk of the sky
drew down deserted streets, silent at dinnertime;
leaves breezeless still on trees, gift of persistant high.
I walk in twilit thought past the plaster Marys-
Our Ladies of mown lawns - O virgin blue, pure, sublime.
Their painted fleshtone faces face green eternities.
The blue hour mutes the hues, moves into indigo,
lined lead plum coloured clouds glean the serene autumnal gloam,
through black boughs streetlights shown, and in a ring arose
to song of dry leaves sung, shadows in vertigo.
Realize I- I- we who twist towards home,
white ghosts of memory, a cast coast in lost clothes,
past that shadow circle where, in danse, my soul lies,
still adrift, a shade shorn crossing the shadow line.
all I am surrounds me - deleted line
Rybka was a reviewer of New Poems, a Poet. We where not friends, often not on friendly terms. This was written not as a tribute, I took care in editing so it would not seem as either a parody or game of oneupsmanship, that is a game for the living, as they would have the chance to top it. It is something I started to write after I got the news of his passing. I had taken two rather long walks, and many subsequent re-tracings of the path I took, for the dead become lost to the living, unless you are alone. So this is a poem about being alone, the influence and loss of a contemporary, and a coming to terms with that I like he will never reach where we want to ne
Anything good about this poem, particularly the alliteration, I credit to his influence. Anything bad (and I'm sure Rybka, with some relish.would have pointed it out) is mine.
I owe him this. It belongs here, our battleground.
Other local debts:
thank you Maria 2394, I told you I would steal it.
Line 11 is shorter than the rest
Thank you again Maria, did you think I could forget?
and thanks to chipbuddy, for some last minute tense adjustments
for further discussion, and some of his work see the thread for Rybka