Rosehips before the frost

This poem is not an oak, ancient, sturdy, leafladen,
but a wiry willow, windbent, waiting
in the brisk of breeze to shred its leaves.
This poem is not a scent of sandalwood
weighted with the gait of an aging man
but the last whiff of rosehips, melting
in your morning tea.
This poem is a poem — a pebble tumbling
slowly in the stagnant stream
with newly fallen willow leaves.
This poem is the first and final days before the frost.

Today Jilly want’s us to write poem with repetition at dVerse. Join us..

October 25, 2018

27 responses to “Rosehips before the frost

  1. Hmm. Makes me think of Shakira, paying the aging librarian a visit. A lapdance, maybe. While he can still move *his* hips.

  2. /This poem is/ wonderful! It plays with repetition artfully, and works so well as a trumpeter for Fall, giving frost the spotlight. /This poem is not/
    dull–it’s one of your finest.

  3. Stunning! Loved the poetic devices you’ve used – so much so, that they “disappear” for the great use of word phrases and images – which leaves this poem literally dancing on the tongue and the mind and heart filled with its overflowing richness – (rose hips are chalk full of vitamin C – and this poem makes me want them, badly) … 😀

  4. A nice via negative and great use of repetition, Björn. I especially enjoyed the different scents and the lines ‘weighted with the gait of an aging man’ and ‘a pebble tumbling / slowly in the stagnant stream’. You have captured those ‘first and final days before the frost’.

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