“He does not weep who does not see” - Victor Hugo
After a break from the Magpie Tales meme, I return this week with an offering that is inspired by the art of M.C. Escher (17 June 1898 – 27 March 1972), who was a Dutch graphic artist. He is known for his often mathematically inspired woodcuts, lithographs, and mezzotints. These feature impossible constructions, explorations of infinity, architecture, and tessellations. His “Puddle” is perhaps one of his more conventional works, even though within the reflections of the water there is a hint of the greater world (or perhaps another world?).
The Winter Rain
Rain falls in weaving sheets
The water droplets merging as they descend,
Coalescing, running together in silver rivulets.
Skies weep, and raindrops are tears of clouds
Falling down, once pure;
Defiled and contaminated when they come to earth.
As puddles form, their mirror surface
Reflects all the ills of the world,
Below as they are above, in leaden skies.
My face is wet under the umbrella,
Although my hood and Mackintosh are impermeable,
Immune from wetting rain.
Eyes weep, and tears are raindrops of the soul,
Falling down, laden with sorrow,
Purifying, as they run down my cheeks in rivulets.
My heart is full of tear-puddles, mirroring
The ills of my soul, my mind’s turmoil.
Rain falls within, as sky-tears descend without…
After a break from the Magpie Tales meme, I return this week with an offering that is inspired by the art of M.C. Escher (17 June 1898 – 27 March 1972), who was a Dutch graphic artist. He is known for his often mathematically inspired woodcuts, lithographs, and mezzotints. These feature impossible constructions, explorations of infinity, architecture, and tessellations. His “Puddle” is perhaps one of his more conventional works, even though within the reflections of the water there is a hint of the greater world (or perhaps another world?).
The Winter Rain
Rain falls in weaving sheets
The water droplets merging as they descend,
Coalescing, running together in silver rivulets.
Skies weep, and raindrops are tears of clouds
Falling down, once pure;
Defiled and contaminated when they come to earth.
As puddles form, their mirror surface
Reflects all the ills of the world,
Below as they are above, in leaden skies.
My face is wet under the umbrella,
Although my hood and Mackintosh are impermeable,
Immune from wetting rain.
Eyes weep, and tears are raindrops of the soul,
Falling down, laden with sorrow,
Purifying, as they run down my cheeks in rivulets.
My heart is full of tear-puddles, mirroring
The ills of my soul, my mind’s turmoil.
Rain falls within, as sky-tears descend without…
For me, your poem 'mirrors' the times I have gone walking in the rain in an attempt to solve a problem, grieve a loss. Great poems talk to the reader, yours has. thank you
ReplyDeleteSometimes it's good to be able to cry...lovely write...
ReplyDeleteRain and muddles always brings with it tons of memories. I guess, I can identify with this then. :) Nicely penned. :)
ReplyDeleteProse, Poetry and Photography
Refreshingly different take on the prompt...
ReplyDelete