Anniversary *** Options

[Maureen]

Amended Version

ANNIVERSARY

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet


I sit enclosed by four bare walls and raise a glass to you
another year has passed and gone and I am older too
I do not make a wish for therein lies futility
I do not light the candles for none celebrate with me
I do not count my blessings; look around and you will see
my blessings disappeared with your Adieu.

The churchyard stones grow moss and lichen in the ringed shade
and faded blooms in old glass jars are everywhere displayed.
Eternal life is short, it is a gift that can’t be bought,
yet daily we are striving for the answer. It is sought
to prolong life. But why? We squander lives with battles fought –
despite the pious pleas of those who prayed.

I look with anguished eyes out through the windows soul-less pane
across the drying paddocks that are parched from lack of rain.
I hear the call of peacocks begging ‘Help’ from ancient Greeks;
one hundred eyes of Argus evermore his Hera seeks
but they have faded with the past, now only legend speaks,
though in my head I hear you call my name.









ANNIVERSARY


I sit within these bare four walls and raise a glass to you.
another year has passed and gone and I am older too.
I do not make a wish for therein lies futility.
I do not light the candles for none celebrate with me.
I do not count my blessings for look around and you’ll see
my blessings disappeared with your Adieu.

The churchyard stones grow moss and lichen in the ringed shade
and faded blooms in old glass jars are everywhere displayed.
Eternal life is short, it’s the one thing that can’t be bought,
yet daily we are striving for the answer. It is sought
to prolong life. But why? When we squander lives with wars fought –
despite the pious pleas of those who prayed.

I look with anguished eyes out through the windows soul-less pane
across the drying paddocks that are parched from lack of rain.
I hear the call of peacocks begging ‘Help’ from ancient Greeks.
One hundred eyes of Argus evermore his Hera seeks
but they are all long gone now and ‘tis only legend speaks,
though in my head I hear you call my name.

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

[Eisa]

I'm sorry to see this has been sitting here awhile, Maureen. I haven't posed anything in Herme's for a while but thought I'd call in tonight.

This is beautiful - quite poignant.
I've noticed a few lines where meter might be smoother - below.

ANNIVERSARY


I sit within these [bare] four bare walls and raise a glass to you.
another year has passed and gone and I am older too.
I do not make a wish for therein lies futility.
I do not light the candles for none celebrate with me.
I do not count my blessings [for] look around and you [’ll] will see
my blessings disappeared with your Adieu.

I don't know why, but 'four bare walls' just sounds better to me than 'bare four walls'

The churchyard stones grow moss and lichen in the ringed shade
and faded blooms in old glass jars are everywhere displayed.
Eternal life is short, it[’s the one] is a thing that can’t be bought,
yet daily we are striving for the answer. It is sought
to prolong life. But why? [When] We squander lives with[wars] battles fought –
despite the pious pleas of those who prayed.

I look with anguished eyes out through the windows soul-less pane
across the drying paddocks that are parched from lack of rain.
I hear the call of peacocks begging ‘Help’ from ancient Greeks.
One hundred eyes of Argus evermore his Hera seeks
but they are all long gone now and ‘tis only legend speaks,
though in my head I hear you call my name.


I hope these suggestions might help in some way.
Snow

[Larry]

Hi Maureen,

I, too, apologize for not offering suggestions to your (mostly) iambic heptameter ballad about the variances in metrical form. I've read it numerous times in the last week or so and noticed the same things that Snow thought needed correcting. We are in our busiest time of the year here in SE Louisiana with craft shows and all the cutting and sewing which is part and parcel of this business. Been working from can to can't which comes much sooner as one approaches 70.

Anyway, I agree with the suggestions Snow gave your "Anniversary" but would add one more to clean up the spondaic feet in S3/L5.

but they (are all long gone now and ‘tis) have faded in the past and only legend speaks,

I hope this helps and apologize once more for the delay.

Larry

[Maureen]

Thank you Eira and Larry for your help - I have put the amended version up. A lot better I think, and please no apologies are needed at all - we are all working under constraints of time and have other commitments. We do what we can do, when we can do it.

[Psyche]

Hi Maureen,
I'm much later than anybody else to even see this beautiful tribute to a lost loved one, in ballad form. My excuse is having moved house amidst emotional and physical turmoil of all sorts. Not even thought of Christmas yet...nowadays I don't attach much importance to it, buy maybe this year will be different!

Larry and Eira have given you the important crits, so I only have 2 small nits, to TorT as usual.

Amended Version

ANNIVERSARY

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet


I sit enclosed by four bare walls and raise a glass to you
another year has passed and gone and I am older too
I do not make a wish for therein lies futility
I do not light the candles for none celebrate with me
I do not count my blessings; look around and you will see
my blessings disappeared with your Adieu.

The churchyard stones grow moss and lichen in the ringed shade <<<I think maybe you need a different word here, for emphasis on shade. Eira marked it, but I don't know what she intended. I'm sure I can come up with a 2-syll word when the afternoon heat passes. 33ºC or more now.

and faded blooms in old glass jars are everywhere displayed. <<<<so real!

Eternal life is short, it is a gift that can’t be bought,<<<<I feel there's a contradiction here = eternal life is short. Irony, I know, but it doesn't click with me, sorry...

yet daily we are striving for the answer. It is sought
to prolong life. But why? We squander lives with battles fought –
despite the pious pleas of those who prayed.

Sadly, this is so true. We pray, but nothing changes. My husband wrote an essay called "Fatal Errors", it won a mention in a world competition, but was not published since it was not yet fashionable to be so pessimistic...LOL...

I look with anguished eyes out through the windows soul-less pane <<<<I believe it should be "window's", with the apostrophe, if its only one window?

across the drying paddocks that are parched from lack of rain. <<<Here too, even the tree covered mountains are parched. I don't want to mention what we all fear.

I hear the call of peacocks begging ‘Help’ from ancient Greeks;
one hundred eyes of Argus evermore his Hera seeks
but they have faded with the past, now only legend speaks,
though in my head I hear you call my name.

Your last stanza is wonderful, and I appreciate the last line. I often really seem to hear voices of loved ones calling me. Occasionally, they even stand at the door or by my bed, so real. I guess I'm half-dreaming.

Wonderful piece, Maureen.
Cheers, Syl***



ANNIVERSARY


I sit within these bare four walls and raise a glass to you.
another year has passed and gone and I am older too.
I do not make a wish for therein lies futility.
I do not light the candles for none celebrate with me.
I do not count my blessings for look around and you’ll see
my blessings disappeared with your Adieu.

The churchyard stones grow moss and lichen in the ringed shade
and faded blooms in old glass jars are everywhere displayed.
Eternal life is short, it’s the one thing that can’t be bought,
yet daily we are striving for the answer. It is sought
to prolong life. But why? When we squander lives with wars fought –
despite the pious pleas of those who prayed.

I look with anguished eyes out through the windows soul-less pane
across the drying paddocks that are parched from lack of rain.
I hear the call of peacocks begging ‘Help’ from ancient Greeks.
One hundred eyes of Argus evermore his Hera seeks
but they are all long gone now and ‘tis only legend speaks,
though in my head I hear you call my name.

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

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