When summer strings and drums turn silent, still
a homeless woodwind section warble, grabs
the diligence of man and deer, unchills
our forest — tethered to November drab.
We shut our aching eyes, we dance to flutes
on dying leaves, we rest to whistling reeds
and catch the vows of soil where ancient roots
intone a woe of hues to burst from dormant seeds;
and we survive the monochrome of months
in dark decay with songs to lift our angst.
Photography by Sarolta Ban
To me the picture speaks of a hope that might seem distant when we are entering November celebrating death. This is linked to Sunday Muse and Poetry Pantry
—
November 11, 2019
Björn Rudbergs writings 
There is a sound to the coming winter.
Your poem speaks of surviving the end of the world and not just of a season – so it seems to me.
Songs can certainly lift our angst, if we find the right ones. May it be so!
I love the rhythm of these words. The way the tongue dances from line to line, feeling music warm and shine.
And I completely agree with you, the image speaks of warmth gifts in winter, of hope.
And the cycle of life continues…..come what may?
The woodwind section sounds beautiful here Bjorn! A lovely look at nature’s course of changes. I love the beautiful imagery you have painted for us. Always love to read your poetry!
So sweetly tuned. It makes me feel melancholic but also soothed. Listen.
It is nice to think that there is hope ahead!
I want to see you dance to flutes. I’m waiting.
This is deeply evocative, Bjorn! ❤️ I resonate with; “We shut our aching eyes, we dance to flutes on dying leaves.”
Bjorn, this is especially beautiful. It rather aches with beauty.
I read this to my wife and she enjoyed it as much as I. “catch the vows of soil” as the promise of spring reminds us that winter is not the end.
A sonnet – you haven’t written one of those in a while. I truly enjoyed this Bjorn. It tugs at my heartstrings. A sonnet is my favorite form (sigh)
This is small sonnet or sonnetina… only 10 lines.
I will need to try one of those. Maybe you could create a prompt at dVerse.
“ancient roots intone a woe of hues” … great line, Bjorn. I love your “take” on the photo. I could only think each ring must tell the story of an era in the life of the tree.
The rings of the dead tree stopped stinging years ago, the Victrola is all wound down.
This does speak of rest, of closing your eyes to other senses read the day. The more I read it, the calmer I become.
Those last two lines. Really captures the way of us in the North. 😉 Beautiful!
I like the idea that you expressed in the last two lines, an excellent way to lighten late Fall and Winter’s dark nights, “monochrome of months
in dark decay with songs to lift our angst.”
..
I really love this. A necessary season of death beautifully survived with nature’s “Songs to lift our angst”. As a human animal, I feel seen and soothed.
Amazing! Lovely and lyrical … with hidden depths to explore and linger over. The ‘sound’ of the piece is fantastic … it lifted me up … and carried my along … so that … I didn’t want to leave. THIS IS POETRY!!!
There’s a lovely, sombre music in this.
Oh beautifully crafted.
I really love this–such a beautifully crafted write–and your imagery is both so unexpected and so spot-on
Love all the visuals you wrote into the piece. I certainly feel its mood. Yes, let us hear happy tunes to color our monochrome winters.
I feel the hope of a brighter day here, and the sound of music is just what will send forth a burst of hues to entice our will to continue on.