Twilight
Twilight
The second exercise in the August Writing Magazine was to write a twenty line free verse poem on the theme of twilight. I started off capturing the physical qualities of that time of day, and how it would affect someone sitting looking out of a window at the dimming light. It then struck me that it could be likened to the twilight of a life, starting out bright and busy and fading to a dimmer, more peaceful existence. not a new idea, but hopefully not too much of a cliché. The subject of the poem became an old lady - not me yet! Free verse has no rhyme or metre, but my poem fell into five verses., the first four quite hypnotic, the last fracturing the mood and returning to the present.
Twilight
Sitting by the window, early evening,
She knits for her grandson,
Looking past the view
Remembering her life.
Smiling at the fierce frenzy of motherhood
The anxious intensity of each moment,
Long past, devolved to others
With more energy than herself.
Sighing as the light, sinking down behind the hilltops
Gradually fades in the valley
Each tree and hedge becoming a blur
Remembered rather than seen.
Listening to the stillness
Settling into the silence
The absence of birdsong,
Of motion in her life.
Nodding, she wakes with a start
Not yet ready for the shadows
She turns on the light
Picks up her knitting, each stitch in sharp relief.
© Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
The second exercise in the August Writing Magazine was to write a twenty line free verse poem on the theme of twilight. I started off capturing the physical qualities of that time of day, and how it would affect someone sitting looking out of a window at the dimming light. It then struck me that it could be likened to the twilight of a life, starting out bright and busy and fading to a dimmer, more peaceful existence. not a new idea, but hopefully not too much of a cliché. The subject of the poem became an old lady - not me yet! Free verse has no rhyme or metre, but my poem fell into five verses., the first four quite hypnotic, the last fracturing the mood and returning to the present.
Twilight
Sitting by the window, early evening,
She knits for her grandson,
Looking past the view
Remembering her life.
Smiling at the fierce frenzy of motherhood
The anxious intensity of each moment,
Long past, devolved to others
With more energy than herself.
Sighing as the light, sinking down behind the hilltops
Gradually fades in the valley
Each tree and hedge becoming a blur
Remembered rather than seen.
Listening to the stillness
Settling into the silence
The absence of birdsong,
Of motion in her life.
Nodding, she wakes with a start
Not yet ready for the shadows
She turns on the light
Picks up her knitting, each stitch in sharp relief.
© Copyright 2018. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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