Hewn
The hues of a northern November recall, somehow,
World War I–not just the peace,
but the slog, entrenched in barren,
bombarded by fall.
Only that which is young enough
to bend completely to the ground
and spring up straight again
still glows green–
And how can it be
that the war to end all wars
is now the hundred years’ war
and the young
are still bent to the ground,
and still, no matter how straight they do spring,
are soon to lose
their green
for some dark time.
Trees–they know how to make good
going around in circles–but when humans
become wood, they turn into
a machine’s toys–
We can hardly see them
in the blinding grey–
those leaves, Novembers, that low to the ground
flare against ghost
trunks and sky-carved limbs–
Though the eye barely dares
believe them, the heart
watches its step, anxious not to flatten a one
before the snow.
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I couldn’t resist! Though I have been noveling! But all day, off and on, Claudia’s prompt on Autumn colors on dVerse Poets Pub and Kerry O’Connor’s prompt about Marianne Moore’s Real Toads in Imaginary Gardens on With Real Toads were swirling about in my mind, so I finally wrote a draft of the swirl down. Check out both of these wonderful prompts and the wonderful poems they are inspiring.
I apologize to Kerry as I did not try for a syllabic format a la Marianne Moore, though I do typically write a syllabic line when doing forms. (Next time.)
PS – a special thanks to Hedgewitch for this poem – who got me thinking that it was okay to keep writing down my attempted poems despite my concurrent attempts for discipline.
PPS – November 11 is Armistice Day (celebrated as Veteran’s Day in the U.S.), the armistice of WWI, which began 100 years ago next year.
ppps–this has been edited since first posting–
ManicDDaily 
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