Trees undressed

Do you know what the earth meditates upon in autumn?
Pablo Neruda — The book of questions

The question turns my mind to blazing
colors of the dying leaf succumbing
to cavernous greed of the freezing soil
sucking back the last sustenance
it gave in spring, and when the last of
leaves is sickly tear-drop-clinging
to skeletal fingers stretching sky-wards —
trees stand naked, ladies autumn-raped
as I hear demented brimstone-cackling
from the savage earth below me feet.

How can you ask if rapist meditates?

Laura hosts at dVerse poetics and asks us to take a few proposed questions from Pablo Neruda’s book “The book of questions” as a spring-board for a new piece of poetry.
—-
October 22, 2019

21 responses to “Trees undressed

  1. Superb opening – and the use of blazing for mind/leaves. A novel rendition of a seasonal rape of the landscape – I like too how you end with that question. Thanks for joining the prompt

  2. I hate to think of autumn as it nears winter but yes, superb framing of the question and poem.

    The crux for me was this part: I hear demented brimstone-cackling
    from the savage earth below me feet.

  3. Oh my!
    “and when the last of
    leaves is sickly tear-drop-clinging
    to skeletal fingers stretching sky-wards ”
    amazing description and imagery here…and “ladies autumn raped”
    Wow! What a way of thinking of autumn! Just amazing to read here, Bjorn.

  4. A strong piece, Björn. I love the opening lines with the ‘blazing colors of the dying leaf’ contrasted with the freezing soil, and those poor naked trees, autumn-raped.

  5. DANG that’s good. You blow me away with this one, Bjorn. Likening the life draining out of the season to being raped. And the question you hurl back at the end.

  6. Terrific foray into the dark side, earth and the seasons as villains; worse yet rapists. Very clever & imaginative. Strong writing and imagery.

  7. ….sounds like you don’t like the cold – I lived in northern Michigan and Illinois for most of my life – I so do enjoy NC – even though it snows here, it is nothing like N. MI. Your poem certainly puts a spin on my love for Autumn!

  8. Great poetry! And thank goodness for poetic license! Loved the alliteration in these lines:

    sickly tear-drop-clinging
    to skeletal fingers stretching sky-wards

    also tear-drop-clinging ,itself delighted me – two coups in one.

  9. Amazing work, Bjorn! I particularly love:

    “when the last of
    leaves is sickly tear-drop-clinging
    to skeletal fingers”

    “I hear demented brimstone-cackling
    from the savage earth below me feet.”

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